


Bassmas! A Holiday Tale

by romeokijai



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: AU - sorta, Angst, Canon Divergence, Christmas, Drama, F/M, Family, Fluff, Holidays, Humor, I don't really know - Freeform, I'm just glad ya'll are reading lol, Romance, Sexual Content, This started out as a simple holiday fic but is morphing into something else, charloe - Freeform, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 48,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romeokijai/pseuds/romeokijai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a wonderful life, Bass!</p><p>After he is heavily sedated by Dr. Gene Porter and Rachel Matheson, Sebastian Monroe finds himself transported into an alternate reality of sorts, where he's given a chance to live the life he's always wanted: a life where his friendship with Miles is still healthily in tact and he's in a committed relationship with Charlie. </p><p>But what happens when he has to go back to the real world, where the lights are still out and the Mathesons basically hate him? Will he ever truly get the life he's always wanted?</p><p>***COMPLETE***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Execution

**Author's Note:**

> This story is loosely inspired by a Christmas episode of Smallville (5x09, Lexmas). I just thought it fit really well with Bass and would translate nicely into a Charloe fic. The story begins with a scene from ep 2x06, Dead Man Walking, but will probably end somewhere in 2x07, The Patriot Act (with some pro-Charloe creative liberties and possible canon-diversions thrown in). It starts off with more of a T rating but will turn into an M rating...because, I mean, with these two, how can it not? Am I right? 
> 
> I'm not new to writing fan fiction, but I am fairly new to this fandom and tend to spend the majority of my time reading rather than writing. But this idea has been rolling around in my head for a few days now, and I finally decided to commit it to paper. Hope it doesn't disappoint! Your feedback means the world to me, so PLEASE leave comments and let me know how I'm doing!

  

“I’m sorry,” he barely whispers, thick, hot tears filling his pleading and desperate blue eyes.

But in all honesty, he doesn’t know why he even says it. He knows his apology, no matter how sincere, will fall on deaf ears, that his words will never make a difference, never bring back what he took.

Perhaps the words aren’t meant to change anything; perhaps they’re more for him than for anything or anyone else.

They’re certainly not for Rachel Matheson. And judging from the look on her face – blank, cold, emotionless – she doesn’t seem to believe him anyway.  Why should she? After everything he’s put her through. She might be just as much of a monster as he is, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has deeply wronged her and her family.

And now he’s paying for it. Publically. His sins have finally caught up to him, and the entire thing is on display for the viewing of everyone in Willoughby, Texas.

He glances down at the needle that Dr. Gene Porter has strategically placed against his right arm. The doctor doesn’t speak, doesn’t smile, doesn’t even make eye contact; he simply begins to empty the lethal fluid directly into Bass’s veins.

It’s the last thing Bass remembers as he stares up at the courthouse ceiling and drifts into dark oblivion.

 

\- - -

 

_I’m dreaming of a white Christmas—_

_Just like the ones I used to know…_

_Where the treetops glisten_

_And children listen_

_To sleigh bells in the snow…._

 

The distant sound of Bing Crosby’s deep baritone voice and the delightful scent of freshly brewed coffee are the first things he notices when Bass opens his eyes.

It’s the kind of morning that is sure to bring a lazy, appreciative smile to anyone’s face, but not to his. Instead, the aged lines on his forehead become more prominent as his features form into a confused frown. He squints at his surroundings, unable to recognize any of it.

He’s in some bedroom, he realizes. More specifically, he’s in a bed – a king-sized one with lots of clean, fluffy pillows and a plush white duvet that’s draped over him.

He quickly pushes back the covers and forces himself into a seated position. His frown remains intact as he continues to look around the neat, simply decorated room.

What the hell is going on? And why does it feel like he’s been magically transported into some alternate reality – one where he can’t remember a single thing about anything that existed before this moment?

He feels as if he’s missing an entire lifetime of memories, as if he’s been thrown smack dab into the middle of the here and now without any background or context or history. And yet, at the same time, he feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, as if his present ‘reality’ is all part of his normal, everyday existence.

But it can’t be, can it? One doesn’t just wake up and fail to remember his entire life. Plus, there’s a strange, nagging voice in the back of his mind that tells him he doesn’t belong here and that he doesn’t deserve any of this, but he hasn’t the slightest idea why he feels that way. And no matter how hard he tries to make sense of it, his mind refuses to comply.

Bass shakes his head. It’s too damned early for such existential musings.

He forces himself out of bed and walks into the adjoining master bathroom. It’s small, clean, and surprisingly spacious; everything seems to be in its place, yet nothing about the space is even remotely familiar to him.

His brow knits together when he notes the black lace bra hanging on the back of the door. So he doesn’t live alone, he gathers. Or, at least, his female visitors feel comfortable enough to leave their undergarments in his bathroom. Or maybe he’s not in his bathroom at all? Maybe _he’s_ the visitor?

He figures he’ll find out soon enough.

After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he finally wanders out of the bedroom, down a small hallway, and into a quaint living room that’s picturesquely decorated for the holidays. A five-foot tree that’s all lit up with twinkling white lights and an assortment of red, blue, purple, and silver ornaments sits in front of a window, outside of which snow is falling. Everything in the room is homely and a little too domestic looking to belong to a bachelor. Clearly, a woman is responsible for the décor choices. But the space isn’t entirely feminine either.

Bass realizes that this room is also the source of the music he heard earlier. But Crosby’s classic has ended and Michael Buble’s rendition of _I’ll Be Home for Christmas_ now plays from the iHome system that sits atop the fireplace mantel.

“Merry Christmas Eve!”

His exploration of the apartment is cut short by the sound of a woman’s enthused voice.

Bass turns toward the source and is surprised to find Charlie Matheson of all people standing there in an oversized Marine Corps t-shirt and a pair of blue plaid pajama bottoms, her hair piled high in a messy bun; she holds in her hands two steaming mugs of what Bass assumes is coffee. He watches as her bright smile slowly fades.

“Bass?” She raises an eyebrow at him and moves closer. “Are you okay?”

Bass’s head is now spinning. He still can’t figure out what, but something is definitely wrong with this picture. He feels his heart rate increase when Charlie moves to stand directly in front of him and hands him one of the mugs.

Her bright blue eyes suspiciously narrow at him, and she carefully searches his gaze. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” He asks in return.

She giggles under her breath before reaching up to fiddle with his curly hair. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, babe.”

‘ _Babe? What the fuck is going on?!_ ’ Bass’s mind screams at him. Indeed, something is wrong is with this picture – very wrong.

The next thing he knows, Charlie’s lips are softly pressing against his. They’re warm and supple and feel far better than anything Bass could have ever imagined, and the way she kisses him suggests a blatant level of familiarity, implying to Bass that they’ve shared these types of moments a million times before. And yet, once more, to his grave disappointment, he can’t remember any of these supposed moments.

“So did Miles say what time we should head over to his place?” Charlie asks once the kiss ends.

“What?” Bass stares at her blankly.

She rolls her eyes. “God, what has gotten into you? Did you hit your heard or something this morning? Anyway, never mind, I’ll call Miles or Nora and ask them myself.”

He watches in stunned silence as Charlie turns on her heels and heads into the kitchen.

Bass sighs wearily and heads back to the bedroom. He needs a shower, he decides. Perhaps that will help him clear his head a little.

He enters the master bathroom and turns on the shower. While the water heats up, he pulls off his t-shirt, turns on the sink, and splashes his face for a second time this morning. Then he brings his face up to look at his reflection in the mirror.

…and his knees nearly buckle when he does.

Staring back at him, from behind his own reflection, is Emma Bennett.

“Bass,” she says, her face stoic and beautiful. She's wearing the same thing she wore the night she died in his arms.

And suddenly, Bass remembers everything…

The blackout, the Monroe Republic, the Mathesons, Emma’s death, the fact that they had a son together who is still out there somewhere, the nuclear bombs that the Patriots dropped, and Charlie…how she’d found him in New Vegas and had brought him back to Willoughby upon his request, only to have his plans backfire completely. He remembers staring into Rachel’s lifeless blue-gray eyes the night that he was executed, and he remembers being sorry for everything that had happened but knowing it was too late to even think about fixing any of it.

“Bass,” Emma repeats, breaking him from his weighted and torturous reverie.

Her voice is soft, but it startles him. He frantically looks behind him and expects to find her standing there, but he quickly realizes she’s not there at all. She’s just a ghostly reflection in the mirror.

The color has drained from his face and his eyes are wide and filled with terror as he stares back at the image of the woman he once loved, the mother of his child. He feels the hot sting of tears as he reaches up and places a hand against the mirror in a pathetic attempt to touch her, but, of course, to no avail.

“Emma,” he chokes out. “How…? What…what is—am I…?”

He doesn’t even bother to finish the question, because, given his last actual memory, he knows exactly what the answer is.

“You’re not dead, Bass,” Emma tells him.

He frowns hard at the mirror.

“Not yet, anyway,” she adds with a sigh.

“I don’t understand….”

“I know. I’ll explain.”

He watches her carefully, eagerly, fearfully. He can’t remember the last time he was this terrified; not even the night of his execution had mustered as much fear in him.

“You’re trapped inside your own mind, Bass,” Emma says. “What you’re seeing right now is a figment of your deepest desires – the life you’ve always wanted.”

He silently watches. Is that it? That’s all she’s going to tell him?

She falls silent, and for some reason, it infuriates him.

“Right. So playing house with Miles’s niece… _that’s_ the life I’ve always wanted?” He finally scoffs.

“There’s no need to be defensive about it.” Emma holds up a hand, as if to stop him. Her tone remains even and cold. “I’m a part of your mind, remember? So lying to me is worthless.”

“Lying about what?” His knuckles whiten as he clutches the sides of the sink. “What does Charlie have to do with anything?”

Emma’s expression never changes. “It’s not about the picture-perfect holiday morning with Charlie. That might be the way your mind is choosing to manifest your desires, but deep down, you know exactly what this is. Don’t you?”

Bass doesn’t respond.

“Ever since things disintegrated between you and Miles, the only thing you’ve ever truly wanted is for someone to look past the monster that you feel you’ve become; for someone to realize that there is still some goodness left in you.”

“The last person to look at me like that was you,” he admits. Once more, he feels the tears forming in his eyes. “And look where that got you.”

“None of that matters now, Bass. What happened to me has happened.”

“I still don’t understand what Charlie has to do with any of this.”

Emma nods. “Remember the night of your execution? Remember the way Charlie looked at you right before you were sent into the courthouse?”

An icy shiver shoots down Bass’s spine. He remembers. It's a look he'll never forget. He stares at Emma, completely dumbstruck.

“This is your chance, Bass. In this reality, you have the chance to be different…to be the person you’ve wanted to be for so long – the person that Charlie was just beginning to see.”

“What does that even mean?” He questions defensively. “What difference will any of this make if I’m just stuck inside my own fucking head? Emma, you know what happened. They executed me. I’m never going to get another real chance.”

“But you see, that’s where you’re wrong.”

Bass moves his face closer to the mirror, his expression desperate. “What are you saying? That I’ll get another chance at life?”

Emma lips curl into a hopeful but mostly sad smile. “I love you, Bass. Just know that.”

And then she’s gone.

“No! Emma!” His words come out in an urgent whisper. But all that’s left in the mirror is his own unwanted reflection.

Just then, there’s a loud knock against the bathroom door.

“Damn it,” he curses under his breath, his shoulders falling in defeat.

“Babe? You okay? You’ve been in there a long time!”

It’s Charlie.

“I’m fine!” He hollers.

“Well, can I come in?”

Bass rubs a hand over his scruffy, unshaven face. His heart is still pounding from his encounter (if one should even call it that) with Emma, the weight of her words still hanging heavily in the air around him.

He has no idea if anything she said about him receiving another chance is even remotely possible, or if it’s all just part of some fucked up mental game that he’s currently playing with himself. But then…what if she _is_ right? What if there’s even a tiny chance that he might be given a second go at life? What then?

With more questions than answers circulating inside his head, he glances one more time at his reflection and exhales a short, sharp breath. A newfound sense of resolve comes over him, and he decides to go with it; whatever this between-realities-dimension that he’s currently stuck in plans to throw at him, he’s done being passive and acting like an incompetent fool.

He decides it’s time to meet whatever comes his way head on, just like he always did in his previous life. While his decisions themselves might be different here, his determination won’t be. He was a leader of men in his last existence. Surely, some of that assertiveness will manage to find its place in this existence.

Decision made, he turns and swings open the door – only to find Charlie’s impatient expression waiting on the other side.

“What the hell…you haven’t even showered yet?” She complains upon observation.

An arrogant, mischievous smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he slowly rubs his right pectoral muscle. “I was waiting for you.”

“Well…in that case, good. We had the same idea.” She flirtatiously pushes past him.

He watches hungrily as she strips off her clothes and lets down her long, golden hair. She’s not even the least bit fazed when she catches him lustfully examining her body from head to toe – again, a clear indication that they’ve done this many times before.

Bass watches as she slides open the shower door and steps inside.

“Well,” she sighs, “come on! Get naked and get in here.”  

He chuckles and does as he’s told.


	2. "You Did Good, Bass."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos so far!! I'm absolutely thrilled that you all are enjoying this so far! I'm having a blast writing this and sharing it with you. :)

“Well, well…look who finally decided to show up.” Miles opens his front door and feigns annoyance at his niece and best friend.

“We’re like twenty minutes late. Can it, ass hat,” Bass quips back, laughter on his lips, as he steps over the threshold and throws his arms around his buddy. “Merry Christmas, brother.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, buddy,” Miles says.

They engage in a brief, firm hug, but it’s just long enough to cause a nostalgic sob to form in the back of Bass’s throat. He has missed these moments. Oh, how he’s missed them.

He breathes back the sob and moves quickly from Miles to Nora, pulling her into a hug.

“Merry Christmas, Nora. You look gorgeous,” he compliments his friend’s beautiful companion – who happens to be very much alive and Miles’ wife in this life.

“And a very Merry Christmas to you, Bass.” Nora embraces him warmly.

As he pulls back and smiles at the pretty brunette, he is suddenly and unexpectedly hit by the fleeting but horrific memory of having her tortured while he was still President of the Monroe Republic.

All it takes is the single image in his mind, and he’s about to spiral into a mental episode of self-loathing. But his best friend’s voice snaps him out of it.

“Okay, enough of this gooey holiday B.S.,” Miles grumbles. “Who wants some whiskey?”

“And so it begins,” Nora sighs.

Charlie and Bass both laugh and follow their hosts into their kitchen.

“Uncle Bass! Uncle Bass! You’re finally here!”

A dark-haired little boy, no older than four or five – and a carbon copy of Miles, races into the kitchen and straight toward Bass with a nerf gun in hand.

“Pew, pew! Pew pew! I got you!” The boy cackles blissfully as a couple of neon orange foam bullets bounce off of Bass’s left leg.

“Ow! Watch it!” Bass grabs his knee, pretending to be hurt, which only increases Colin’s excitement and sense of accomplishment.

“Colin,” Nora warns. “Remember what we talked about yesterday? We only shoot things, not people.”

Colin stops dead in his tracks and shrugs his little shoulders. “Sorry, Mommy. But it’s just Uncle Bass.”

“Gee, thanks, kid.” Bass fakes his offense but struggles to hide the smile that threatens to erupt across his face as he picks up the nerf bullets and hands them back to Colin.

Colin gives him a wide, toothy grin and then races right out of the room.  

“Damn, that kid’s grown a lot.” Bass shakes his head, hoping his out-of-context observation turns out to be true.

“Tell me about it,” Miles chortles in confirmation. “Like a damned weed.”

“Hey, remember when _I_ used to call you Uncle Bass?” Charlie’s expression and tone are unabashedly naughty as she trails a finger down the length of Bass’s arm.

Bass doesn’t miss a beat as he turns to meet her gaze. “What, you mean last week, when we were—”

“Shut up!” Charlie shrieks and smacks him in the shoulder before he can finish his statement. “God, that’s not even true, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Bass winks, causing Charlie to become even more flustered.

“God, you two,” Miles groans and throws back another glass of whiskey. “Thank you… _so_ very much…for that awesome mental image of my best friend and my _niece_!” 

“Sorry, Uncle Miles.” Charlie innocently bats her eyelashes and shrugs.

Miles groans again, this time more dramatically. “Don’t call me Uncle Miles. Now it just sounds dirty.”

Charlie throws her head back and laughs, and Bass can’t help but join her.

“Okay, okay, you weirdos,” Nora interrupts, but she, too, is laughing. “Dinner’s almost ready. Charlie, do you mind helping me bring the food to the table?”

“You got it.” Charlie happily offers her assistance.

“Good, while they’re doing that, I need you to help me with something upstairs,” Miles informs his friend. His tone is a bit cryptic.

“Oh, c’mon,” Bass whines. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m a guest in your house. Can’t I have permission to sit on my ass at least for tonight?”

“No, Moron. Now, come on.”

Bass begrudgingly follows Miles up the stairs and into Miles’s study.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Miles growls bitterly once they’re inside the study. He quickly shuts the door behind him.

“What? What’s wrong with _you_?” Bass has no idea what Miles is talking about, but he refuses to clue Miles in on his own cluelessness.

Miles rolls his eyes and Bass is immediately reminded of Charlie’s similar gesture from this morning; apparently, this family has its share of behavioral trademarks.

Miles walks over to his desk, opens the top drawer, and pulls out a small, black velvet box. Bass’s eyes immediately widen. Before Miles even opens it, Bass knows exactly what it contains.

“I figured you’d want this now?” Miles hands over the box.

Bass opens it up and stares at the sparkling, 1.5-carat princess-cut diamond that sits atop a shiny platinum band. “Holy shit,” he breathes out.

“Yeah, dumbass…way to upstage me,” Miles teases. “Can you imagine what Nora would have done if she had found that? Not that she’s really the materialistic type – thank God; but I gotta say…you did good. That’s the kind of rock any girl would want to wear.”

Bass chuckles nervously, unable to look away from the brilliant diamond and everything it implies.  

“Charlie’s a lucky gal,” Miles says.

And suddenly, the sob from earlier reforms in the back of Bass’s throat. He anxiously clears his throat and finally looks up at his friend.

Miles nervously scratches the back of his neck. “Listen, I know I haven’t always been the biggest fan of you…well, boning my niece and all….”

Bass lets out an amused snort. “Geez, Miles….”

In his previous life, Miles was never the greatest rhetorician; apparently, Bass notes, that part hasn’t changed much in this life.

Miles chuckles. “Seriously…it’s weird!”

Bass shrugs. “You were saying?”

Miles shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “Charlie’s practically like a daughter to me, so…” he pauses, searching for the right words. “But I guess I’ve finally come to realize…you’re good for her, Bass. And not just good, but…right.”

Bass releases the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. For the third time this evening, he feels that damned lump in his throat, and this time, he’s not sure he’ll manage to suppress it.

“Thank you, Miles,” he croaks out. He doesn’t even try to hide the stupidly boyish grin that has taken over his features.

Miles offers him a brief but sincere nod. “Just don’t even think about screwing it up, you hear me? I mean, you so much as _think_ about hurting her, and I’ll—”

“Blow my damned head off?” Bass interjects with a smirk. “Believe me, you have my full permission to beat the living shit out of me if I ever do anything to fuck things up with Charlie. But I promise you, Miles, you have nothing to worry about.”

Miles inhales a long, deep breath and releases it slowly. He smiles. “I know, Man. I know how much she means to you. I’m sure you’ll never hurt her, but you know…she’s my family. I just have to make sure I cover my bases. That’s all.”

“She’s my family, too. I really love her, Miles.” And he means it. Every word. He never would have admitted it out loud in his previous life, but Charlie Matheson has meant something to him for a very long time.

Both men fall silent for a moment.

“So when are you popping the question?” Miles eventually asks.

Bass answers without even thinking, “Tomorrow morning.”

Miles smirks. “That’ll be one hell of a Christmas gift.”

“I’ll say.” Bass grins. Suddenly, he can’t wait till Christmas.

The men turn their attention to the door when they hear a light knock.

“Daddy!” Colin calls from the other side.

“What’s up, buddy?” Miles replies.

“Mom says it’s time for dinner!”

“Okay, we’ll be right down!” Miles answers. He then gives his friend a stern look. “Now hide that stupid thing. I don’t want Nora knowing that I had it…or that I even saw it. She’ll start getting ideas, and the next thing I know, I’ll be a few thousand dollars in debt.”

“Hey, that’s not my fault,” Bass cracks back. “It’s not my problem if your Mrs. has you whipped like butter.”

“Shut up, stupid,” Miles snarls. “Besides, you’re one to talk.”

“Touché,” Bass snickers and shoves the ring box deep into the pocket of his jacket.

Downstairs, the women have just finished putting the final touches on the meal. Everything looks and smells magnificent. Bass would have never thought of Nora as the homemaker type, but he is quickly learning that literally anything is possible in this alternate reality.

The four friends and Colin laugh heartily and have a great time feasting together. By the end of the meal, Bass’s belly and heart are both, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, full. His blue eyes shimmer with gratitude and hope as he looks at each person around the table.

His gaze finally settles upon Charlie, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

She looks absolutely radiant tonight. Her hair is down and carefully styled in large, loose waves. Little pearl earrings shimmer against her earlobes. Her make-up is fairly minimal but she is wearing just enough to make her already striking features pop even more. Bass licks his lips as his eyes wander down to her plump, cherry-colored lips.

“What?” Charlie asks, suddenly turning to meet his awestruck stare.

“Nothing,” he mumbles. He drapes his arm over the back of her chair and leans in close. “You just look really beautiful tonight.”

“Well, thank you. You don’t look half bad yourself,” she teases and leans into his side.

“How about we go home and unwrap a few…gifts…tonight?” Bass mutters suggestively, his warm breath hitting the outer shell of her ear.

“Hmm…depends what kind of _gifts_ we’re talking about,” Charlie whispers back.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what kind of gifts I’m talking about, Charlotte.” His lips graze her ear.

Charlie doesn’t say anything. Instead, she reaches her hand beneath the table and brushes her fingers against his crotch, eliciting a low, guttural growl from him.

“Hey…cut it out!” Miles glowers at both of them, causing them to jerk apart.

“What?” Charlie rolls her eyes, her face suddenly red. “We’re not doing anything.”

“Uh-huh.” Miles shoots daggers at his niece and his best friend. “Sure, you’re not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the Miloe heart-to-heart wasn't too cheesy or overly sentimental. It's hard to write sincere conversations between these two, lol. So hopefully this wasn't a total fail. Please leave reviews!


	3. She's an Angel; I'm the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely rated M. So...don't say I didn't warn you. ;) Merry Christmas, fellow Charloe shippers!

Bass’s mood (and Charlie’s too, for that matter) changes within the next hour. They both try their level bests to stay engaged and interested in Colin’s antics and Nora and Miles’s conversations – which are normally quite interesting, but as the evening crawls along, all they really want to do is to go home and have their way with each other.

Bass internally laughs at himself. Here he is, a grown ass 45 year old man, and he feels like a horny teenager. But as far as he is concerned, there isn’t any way of knowing when his dream might come to a crashing end. And if he can help it, he refuses to leave this strange, extended visit to his subconscious without another rendezvous with Charlie…or several more, if it’s up to him.

Their morning tryst in the shower had been hot and amazing, but it was also quick and rushed and merely a foretaste of what he wants to do with her this evening.

He is beside himself when Charlie finally announces that it’s time for them to go home.

“Aw…already? What’s the hurry?” Miles pointedly asks, which earns him deathly glares from both Bass and Charlie.

They express their thanks to Nora and Miles for the lovely meal and evening; then they say their goodbyes to Colin (who seems far more interested in his toys than he is in them) and are out the door shortly after.

They barely make it through the front door of their own apartment before Bass is grabbing Charlie’s ass and smashing his hungry lips against hers.

Her back lands against the wall with a thud, and she wraps her long legs around his hips, moaning into his mouth as his tongue begins to greedily explore hers. She secures her arms around his neck, but then she suddenly disengages and pushes at him, urging him to stop.

He complies, though very reluctantly, and frowns at her. “What? What’s wrong?”

Charlie bites her already swollen bottom lip and offers him a sheepish grin. “Nothing’s wrong…I just…I have something I need to do.”

“What?!” He protests. “What could possibly be more important than what _we_ were just about to do?”

“It’ll make _that_ …much better, trust me,” she giggles. “ _Trust_ me. Now, put me down.”

Bass’s eyes narrow disapprovingly. “You’re a fucking tease, you know that?”

“Yeah….” She sticks her tongue out at him. “But you like it.”

‘ _God, she’s so damned adorable!_ ’ He has to use every shred of willpower to resist tearing her clothes off right then and there.

He lets out a dramatic groan and thrusts his pelvis into hers, allowing her to feel his significant bulge as it hardens beneath his jeans. She moans quietly and he notices the distinct glint of mischief in her eyes before he finally releases her from between himself and the wall, watching with a mixture of dismay and excitement as she scurries toward their bedroom, laughing the entire time.

“You get two minutes! Tops!” He yells after her.

“Nope! You don’t get to decide that. Don’t come in until I tell you to!” She warns him and then disappears behind the closed door.

When more than two minutes pass and Charlie fails to invite him into their room, he takes the unwanted intermission as an opportunity to hide the ring box that’s still nestled inside his pocket. The back corner of the top shelf of the coat closet becomes his hiding spot of choice.

“Okay, I’m ready!” She announces, just as he is closing the closet door.

He smiles. ‘ _Perfect timing._ ’

Impish curiosity paints his rugged features as he enters the bedroom and finds her sitting on the bed, her back propped up against a pile of pillows, the fluffy, white duvet strategically draped over most of her body, leaving just her tanned, bare arms and shoulders for his view. She looks like a damned angel sitting on top of a heavenly cloud, and yet the thoughts in his mind at the moment are anything but Heaven-appropriate. Judging by the look on her face, he’s certain her thoughts aren’t exactly pure, either.

Charlie stays silent, her expression a bit smug, as she lifts and curls her index finger in a come hither motion.

He doesn’t need to be asked again. His resolute gaze never leaves hers as he shrugs off his jacket and approaches the bed, placing one denim-clad knee on the mattress. He glowers down at her like an animal ready to attack.

Her lips curl into a devastatingly seductive smile as she waits for him to do the honors.

And he does.

Bass’s breath hitches in his throat when he pulls back the covers and finds that she’s not naked after all.

His eyes flicker with amused arousal as he unhurriedly examines the sexy Christmas lingerie that hugs Charlie’s perfect form; it’s red and white and tiny and lacy, and it accentuates her every curve in the most magnificent way.

“Merry Christmas,” she purrs like a kitten.

“Indeed.” He nods and reaches out to touch.

Her skin is smooth and hot beneath his eager fingers. He starts by holding the sides of her face, both of his thumbs massaging each of her earlobes. He brings his lips down to meet hers and sets a much slower pace this time, their kisses being sweet, short, and playful. He knows he has all night to devour her, and he plans to make it last as long as possible.

Charlie’s fingers thread into his hair as she pulls him closer and smiles against his lips. They continue with the playful kisses for a while before he trails his wet, warm lips down the length of her neck.

“Mmm…” he moans, licking at her pulse point. Her hands are now beneath his t-shirt, exploring the plains and curves of his hardened muscles.

She pushes at the offending fabric, so he temporarily removes his lips from her flesh and pulls off his shirt. Then his smiling mouth is right back on her skin, making its way down to her pushed up cleavage.

His dilated eyes trail up to meet hers. “Nice touch with the outfit.”

She grins. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I definitely do.” He reaches for the clasps on her corset-style top. Then he winks at her. “But not enough to leave it on.”

The corset lands with a light thump on the floor, and soon they are both fully exposed from the waist up.

Bass’s fingers are greedy as they grab Charlie’s young, perky breasts. He pulls and strokes and kisses her perfect globes before pinching each of her hardening nipples between his calloused thumbs and forefingers.

She grabs the sides of his stubbly face and guides his lips to her right nipple, holding him there while he gently bites and laps at her sensitive nub. She groans in approval and yanks at her left nipple, all the while, arching her back to allow as much of herself into his mouth as she can.

He spends a good while longer lavishing her breasts with the attention she fervently seeks, alternating from one to the other, before finally moving along, sliding his tongue down her smooth, taut stomach. But just as his lips reaches the hem of her lacy panties, she reaches down and yanks him up by his hair, desperate to have his mouth on hers.

He obliges without protest and presses his lips tightly to hers while her nimble fingers begin to unfasten his belt buckle.

“Ohh…Charlotte,” he mumbles against her mouth when her hands reach into his boxers and make direct contact with his fully hardened cock. He throbs against her palm and is beyond grateful when she pulls him free of his pants and underwear.

“Take these off,” she instructs him, and, as usual, she doesn’t need to tell him twice.

His jeans, boxers, boots, and socks all become a pile on the floor before he eagerly climbs back into bed.

“On your back,” she demands.

He smirks but quietly obeys. There’s something brutally sexy about a woman as young as she is, telling him what to do.

Through darkened, hooded eyes, he watches as she slides down his body, sits up on her knees, and plants her hands on either side of his hips. Then she throws her hair over her shoulder, the long waves cascading to one side, and strategically lines up her mouth just above the spot where he wants her most. His engorged dick twitches in anticipation, and his jaw clenches tightly as her warm breath hits him.

He is certain he’s going to die right then and there when her piercing blue eyes stare boldly into his. He shivers under her defiant gaze that is hauntingly reminiscent of the look she wore that night in Philly when she stared down Strausser’s gun – young and fearless, alive and furious and smug.

The mere thought of that night should incite guilt and self-hate within him, he tries to remind himself. He was a monster – a warped, soulless devil who found lustful satisfaction in the defiance and selflessness of a young, innocent girl. But all he recalls is the burning sensation of his arousal – caused explicitly by Charlotte Matheson…just as she’s doing tonight.

She winks deviously before lowering her lips.

“Fuck…Charlotte!” He hisses like a snake, involuntarily lifting his hips toward her hot, hungry mouth.

She smiles and tactfully moves her lips up and down, up and down…his rigid member disappearing into the channel of her throat over and over and over again.

That’s it. He’s going to die. He’s sure of it. He always knew he would die by the hands (or mouth, in this case) of a Matheson. He just never knew it’d be by _this_ Matheson or in this particular fashion.

Bass tries his best to keep his eyes fixed on her, desperately wanting to watch every move she makes, but the pleasure he feels is too much. He throws his head back, eyes slamming shut, balls tensing up as he prepares to unload in her mouth.

Fully aware that he’s about to come, Charlie lets out a long, low hum, and it pushes him completely over the edge. He falls entirely apart, screaming her name while shooting his hot cum directly down her throat, and she welcomes every last drop of him.

His entire body buzzes with desire and satisfaction when Charlie slowly releases his dick and licks her lips. He can hardly see straight but watches anyway as she crawls up his body and lays herself flush against his heaving frame.

Her lips meet his, and he can taste himself on her – the slightly salty flavor deliciously complementing her sweetness. His hands tangle in her hair as he delves his tongue deep into her mouth.

He firmly squeezes the roundness of her ass, and she groans in unbridled approval, wiggling on top of him and silently telling him to do it again, which he does. Their mouths continue to lick, suck, and bite at one another, hearts pounding wildly while their hands incessantly explore and grope each other.

Finally, Bass flips them over until Charlie is underneath him. He stares long and hard into her perfect, flushed face before pushing a few stray hairs away from her eyes.

She bites her bottom lip and awaits his next move.

“You’re beautiful, Charlotte,” he whispers, kissing her forehead, “the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.” Then he kisses her neck, then her chest, and then continuing his quest south. “Let me show you.”

He can’t hold back the prideful smile that forms on his lips when his fingers reach beneath the flimsy fabric of her panties. She instantly squirms and arches toward his touch.

He pushes her panties to one side, exposing her precious sex, and slowly strokes the length of her slit from the bottom to the top with the pad of his thumb. His eyes remain on her, carefully observing the way her face twitches and twists in delight.

“Please, Bass…” she whimpers, desperate to have his mouth on her.

That’s all the permission he needs before he slides her lacy underwear down her creamy legs. He removes them and tosses them away, not bothering to see where they land, before opening up her legs. She watches closely as he settles his face between her thighs.

She reaches down and encouragingly touches his curly, light brown hair, coaxing him to take her in his mouth.

But he waits. He draws her out. He kisses her inner thighs and breathes in her distinctly wonderful scent while watching the impatient pout that has taken over her face.

Her encouraging touches turn eager and rough; she petulantly pulls on his hair while attempting to force his face into her heat, but he downright denies her this time. He grabs both of her hands and threads his thick, manly fingers between each of her slender ones. She tries to disengage them, but his grasp is too tight.

Then he blows hot breaths against her opening.

“Damn it, Sebastian!” She growls. “Don’t fucking tease me!”

That causes laughter to rumble out of him. He’s never heard her say his full first name before, but he decides he likes it. A lot.

“Fucking hell!” Charlie’s head slams against her pillow when Bass finally gives her one long, painfully slow lick. Again, she tries to pull her hands out of his, but he just tightens his grip on her fingers, silently demanding control over her.

Her wet folds are swollen and slick and beyond ready to be devoured. And now that he’s had a little taste, he’s not sure he has enough resolve to draw this out any longer.

His fingers finally drop hers and travel down to her crotch, spreading her glistening flesh to reveal her ripe, pink clit. She shudders when his lips make contact.

“Bass!” She screams, bucking her hips toward him. “Oh, god—I can’t…I’m gonna come!”

Her hands are buried in his hair again, pulling, twisting, nails scratching at his scalp; urging him to finish what he started.

He licks and laps at her, varying his speed, enjoying each stroke and the way she tastes on his tongue. When he sucks her clit deep into his mouth and shoves two rough fingers inside of her, she loses it completely – body writhing uncontrollably, a strangled moan erupting from her throat, her thighs clamping down on the sides of his head as she climaxes all over his bearded face.

Her breathing is ragged and frantic, her limbs a limp mess when he finally pulls his moist mouth and drenched fingers away from her skin.

“Oh my god,” she sighs between breaths, eyes still closed. She reaches up and pushes her breasts together.

He snickers and crawls back up her body, a wicked smile tugging at his lips. “Do you see why it’s not nice to tease, Charlotte?”

She mutters some incoherent words and flutters open her eyes. Before she can properly answer, he kisses her hard in the mouth, determined to give her the satisfaction of tasting herself on his tongue, just like she did for him a little earlier. When she moans hard, he knows he’s done his job well.

Their kissing quickly grows more fervent, and it’s only a matter of time before they’re both ready to come undone again.

They roll over till they’re lying side by side, facing one another, Bass’s hardened cock teasing Charlie’s wet and willing slit. His blue eyes, trained on hers, smolder with deep desire as he lines himself up and plunges in.

Charlie draws in a sharp breath and clutches his shoulders as he pulls back, almost entirely, and then slams right back in. She throws her leg around his hipbone and thrusts her pelvis forward to meet his every motion.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, blissfully taken aback by Charlie’s tightness; he can tell it’s a bit of a struggle for her body to accommodate his girth, and the fact turns him on even more.

She swallows him whole, her flesh molding around him again and again, causing him to grunt like a wild animal as he succumbs to every primal desire within him.

“I’m getting close,” she says, her hands finding the swell of his ass and pulling him close in hopes of getting him deeper inside.

Without warning, Bass grabs her leg – the one that had been over his hip – and throws it over his shoulder, creating a different angle that allows him to penetrate her more deeply.

“Shit!” She hisses and bucks her hips when his thumb finds her clit. “YES! Yes, yes, yes…don’t stop…don’t you dare fucking stop!”

She pulls his head down to her sweaty chest and holds him tight against her slick, burning skin.

Just a few more strokes from his thumb force her into her second orgasm, and this time, she takes Bass right along with her. Her inner walls clamp down on him, sucking him deep, sending him over the edge as well. His cock quakes inside of her before he bursts like a fire hose, filling her womb completely with his hot seed.

They both cry out in ecstasy before collapsing against the mattress. Hearts racing, bodies sweating, and thoughts and words failing to achieve coherence, they lie there for a long while, feeling full and sated and euphoric.

A comfortable silence settles over them as they enjoy the warmth of being in each other’s arms.

“No…not yet.” Charlie stops him when he eventually attempts to pull his now softening dick out of her. “Just stay a little bit longer.”

He lifts his head from her chest and looks at her. And he nearly cries at the sight. She’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen in his life, and she wants him. _She_ wants _him_.

He suddenly doesn’t care that this world isn’t real. He just knows he’s home. And if it means he’s only capable of reaching this place in his dreams, then so be it. He’s willing to stay here, with this marvelous woman who’s giving herself so fully to him, for the rest of eternity.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers. And he means it in every single sense.

Their lips touch for a soft and tender kiss. Charlie sighs and buries her face in the crook of his neck. “I love you,” she mumbles against his throat.

Bass wraps his arms around her and pulls her as close as he possibly can. He kisses the top of her hair. “I love you, too, Charlotte.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this fic will have two more chapters. I think. Time will tell. Thanks for reading! Please leave a review!!


	4. The Vow

A warm wave of relief washes over Bass when he opens his eyes the next morning and finds that he is still in his happy place. He doesn’t remember falling asleep (and, in truth, he’s not even sure how it’s possible to fall asleep when you’re already inside a dream to begin with), but he is deeply grateful to be where he is rather than back in the real world.

His gaze lazily meanders over to Charlie, who is fast asleep beside him. She looks peaceful and content. Even in her slumber, she’s absolutely breathtaking.

Bass lets out a contented sigh and props himself up onto one arm. For several minutes, he intently watches his sleeping angel, studying and memorizing every single feature and detail on her lovely, delicate face. Hers is the face of a carefree, high-spirited 22 year old girl who is happy and safe and in love – not the face of a broken, battered, and cynical solider who was forced to grow up way too soon in a harsh and godforsaken world.

His heart and face both sadden when he thinks about the real Charlie: how driven she is by revenge and how life has constantly hurt or failed her. He feels a sharp pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach as he recalls all the times that _he_ has failed her.

Bass reaches out and pushes a few strands of hairs out of her face. She moans softly and leans into his touch but doesn’t wake up. He sighs and watches as she snuggles into her pillow. She looks as if she’s lost in a good dream.

He leans down and places a gentle kiss against her forehead. In that moment, he makes a vow: should Emma’s words ever come true and he receive his second chance at life, he promises to make it his mission to somehow restore Charlotte’s world. Whether that means wiping the damned Patriots off the map or getting the power back on or simply continuing to look after Charlie’s health and wellbeing like he’s done on more than one occasion, he vows to do any of it – or all of it – whatever it takes to help her see that neither he nor the world, as broken and fallen as they seem, are entirely unredeemable. He knows he can never fully make it up to her, but he has to at least try. That is, if he ever makes it back to that reality.

Then it dawns on him that in this reality, today is Christmas – and that today’s the day he intends to ask Charlotte to marry him.

He once again presses his lips to her forehead before climbing out of bed and getting right to work on his proposal plans.

Twenty minutes later, he is dressed in his winter warmest and standing in the snow-covered courtyard of his and Charlie’s apartment building, a box of supplies in his hands. It must have snowed hard last night, because there’s at least a good foot of fresh white powder on the ground.

Bass places the box at his feet and then pulls out his phone and calls Charlie. It rings several times before she finally answers, and he’s certain by her tone that his call just woke her up.

“Hello?” Her voice has a delightful morning rasp to it. “Wait…where are you? Why are you calling me?”

“Merry Christmas, baby. Get dressed and come out to the courtyard. I want to show you something,” he says. He can already feel the butterflies forming in his stomach.

“What? No way,” she huffs grumpily, confused by his request. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“No, you can’t. Trust me,” he insists. “Get dressed and come down.” He hears her groan, and it causes him to chuckle. “Please? I promise, it will be worth it.”

“It’s freezing cold out there. No, thank you,” she whines.

“Yeah, but this will be worth it, I swear. Plus…I can always help you get warm again later.”

“Uh huh.” Charlie sounds unimpressed; Bass is certain she’s probably rolling her eyes.

“Please, Charlotte? Just come down here,” he begs.

“Well, maybe if you told me _why_ I’m supposed to drag my ass out into the cold.”

“I can’t,” he admits. “It’s a surprise. But I swear, it’s a good one. Please? Come out here?”

“Ugh. Fine,” she sighs. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed.”

Bass’s face erupts into a smile. “Okay, good! Dress really warm. See you in a few.”

“Yeah, whatever. Bye,” Charlie grunts and hangs up.

He chuckles. Even when she’s grouchy, she’s fucking adorable.

He figures it will take her a little while to get dressed, so he quickly calls Miles.

“Hey. So what’s the verdict? Did she say yes?” Miles gets right to the point.

“Well, Merry Christmas to you, too, jerk,” Bass quips. “And no…I mean, I haven’t asked her yet.”

“What? You haven’t even asked yet?”

 _“Wait, he hasn’t asked? Why’s he calling if he hasn’t asked?”_ Bass hears Nora’s interrogation from a distance. He rolls his eyes.

“Geez. I’m calling because I needed a quick pep talk, dummy. I’m nervous.”

“You’ll be fine.”

Bass shakes his head. ‘ _Typical Miles._ ’

 _“Daddy!”_ Colin bawls hysterically in the background.

“Look, I gotta go,” Miles says. “The kid needs me.”

“Yeah, well, screw you,” Bass teases.

“Back at ya, buddy,” Miles laughs. “Don’t call me again until you’re engaged, ya hear? God, did I just say that? Damn, I need a drink.”

“It’s 8:30 in the morning,” Bass snorts.

“Yeah…so?” Miles remains unfazed.

Just then, the back entrance to their apartment building opens, and out walks a bundled up and very flustered looking Charlie.

“This better be good!” She yells as she heads in Bass’s direction.   

“Okay, I gotta go,” he informs Miles. “I’ll call ya later. Or, knowing Charlie, she probably will.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He ends the call and shoves his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he buries his gloved hands in his pockets and sucks in a deep, icy breath. A shiver immediately races down his spine, and he’s not sure if it’s from the cold or from his nerves.

“Merry Christmas!” He shudders and grins at his scowling little lady.

“What are we doing out here?” Charlie demandingly crosses her arms over her chest.

Bass keeps grinning as he reaches down and grabs the large cardboard box from the ground. “We’re making a snowman.”

Charlie’s mouth drops open. “Are you kidding me right now?!”

“Nope. It’ll be fun! Come on.”

“Ugggghh!” Charlie groans childishly. “I was all warm and cozy upstairs, and you dragged me down here for _this_?! What are we, five years old again?”

“Charlotte, stop whining already,” Bass laughs and starts walking away from her, hoping she will follow. “I promise…it’s going to be fun.”

“I’ll show _you_ fun!” Charlie throws a snowball at him, hitting him square in the middle of his back.

Normally, he would have dropped the box and chased after her, but instead he just glances behind his shoulder and offers her a mischievous grin.

She groans again before trudging after him.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take too long for her anger to subside, and soon they are both giggling and teasing each other while building their perfect snowman.

“See? I told you this would be fun.” Bass insists as they both diligently pack on an extra layer of snow to the top sphere.

“Can it, Monroe.” Charlie rolls her eyes, but she is smiling, her face pink and a tad bit swollen from the wintery morning air.

“Okay, I think we’re ready for his face and his accessories.” Bass grabs the box of supplies. “What’s first?”

Charlie starts rummaging through the box, carefully selecting the items she wants to add to their snowman. She uses various pieces of coal to create eyes and a smile, a carrot for the nose, and then she ties a red wool scarf around the snowman’s neck.

“Go find a couple of branches for his arms,” she tells Bass, her face determined and focused as she readjusts the snowman’s lopsided coal smile. “Oh! And he needs mittens.”

Bass’s heart races as he walks away to look for the branches. He lingers in the distance for a while, suddenly lost in his thoughts.

“Hey, Monroe! Move it! We’re almost done, and I really wanna go back in,” Charlie hollers after him. 

He smirks to himself. ‘ _No, Charlotte. We’re only just beginning._ ’

Bass finally gathers a couple of branches that look like snowman arms and brings them back. His face retains its casual, playful smile, but inside, he feels restless and utterly vulnerable…but also deeply happy at the mere thought of what’s about to happen. His fingers toy with the set of mittens that are still inside his pocket – the one accessory he purposefully left out of the supply box.

“Well, that about does it.” Charlie clasps her hands together and admires their work. “Except for the mittens…but this’ll have to do.” She turns to Bass. “What do you think?” She frowns when she notices his pensive stare. “Bass?”

He inhales a heavy breath and pulls out the pair of mittens. His expression doesn’t change as he silently hands them over.

“So you did bring mittens.” Charlie eyes him carefully. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Then she notices the small, square object tucked inside one of the mittens. She starts to pull it out. “What’s this? Oh my god—”

Bass lowers himself to one knee. His stomach is in knots and he doesn’t even bother to fight back his tears as he takes the ring box from Charlie’s trembling hand and opens it up, revealing the stunning diamond.

“Oh my god.” Her words come out in a muffled mess while her hands simultaneously land on top of her mouth. Behind her fingers, she breathes fast and hard, tears pooling around her bright blue irises; she begins to fidget like a nervous, giddy child.

“Charlotte,” Bass can barely say her name. A warm tear slides down his cold cheek, and he clears his suddenly parched throat, trying desperately to regain his composure. It’s takes him a long moment, but then finally, he pulls himself together. “I thought about putting some long, elaborate speech together for you, but there’s really only one thing I need to say right now." His wide, blue eyes are locked with her bright, awaiting gaze. “I love you, Charlie…from the bottom of my heart. You’ve made me happier than I ever dreamed was possible. You amaze me constantly with your love and passion for life and for me. So if you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you just as happy. Charlotte….” Bass’s heart continues its relentless pounding. “Will you marry m—”

Charlie doesn’t even give him the chance to finish his question before she tackles him, pins him down against the snow, straddles his waist, and ardently presses her lips to his.

He somehow manages to hang on to the ring through all of that and instinctually wraps his arms flush around her while kissing her back with full force.

Their lips only separate when the need for air becomes too great.

Bass eagerly peers up at the beautiful girl above. Even with her frozen pink nose, her kiss-bruised lips, and her tear-stained cheeks, she is the most stunning sight he’s ever seen, and now he gets to make her his – forever.

He realizes then that he’s still holding the ring…and that she never actually answered his question. “Wait…so is that a yes?”

“Yes!! Of course, yes!” Charlie screams and begins to sob with sheer joy.

Bass grabs her left hand and yanks off her glove. He then slips the diamond onto her finger, happy to discover that it fits her perfectly. He proudly smiles at her, the skin around his teary eyes crinkling in the process. He’s freezing cold, and his backside is numb from lying in the snow too long, but he can’t imagine a more perfect place to be.

"I love you," he whispers. 

“I love _you_ ,” Charlie giggles. “Thank you for giving me the best Christmas gift, ever!”

“You’re welcome. Merry Chris—” he starts to answer, but once more, Charlie’s lips crash down on his.

 

\- - -  

 

_“Don’t try to move.”_

The words distantly ring in his ears, almost sounding unreal, like he’s making them up in his head, as he stares up into the blurry night sky. Or, at least, he _thinks_ it’s the night sky. He vaguely recalls seeing the moon…maybe some stars as well. But he’s not entirely sure. He swears he just saw Rachel, though, and that the words came from her; but once again, he’s not sure.

His head is pounding and feels like it’s trapped in an eternal fog. He wonders if anything he’s experiencing is real or if he’s in the process of being transported into some new dream state. He decides he doesn’t really care. As long as Miles and Charlie are there, and as long as they both don’t hate him, he’ll be fine.

“Bass…”

_'Is that Miles? It sounds a lot like Miles.’_

“Hey…look at me.”

_‘Yes. It’s definitely Miles.’_

Bass groggily flutters his eyes open and offers a faint smile when Miles' concerned face comes into view. “Hey, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a very warm thank you to everyone who is reading this! I know some of you are nervous about what might happen once Bass returns to reality, but I promise, I'll try to make this ending one that you'll all enjoy. :) If the outline in my head works correctly, this will get one more chapter. If not, then it might get 2 or 3 more chapters. The next part will pick up in 'The Patriot Act', but you can expect some definite canon diversions. I hope no one minds! ;)
> 
> In the meantime, please do leave a review. The reviews are great writing fuel.
> 
> Hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas!


	5. Who Are You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter turned out shorter and more fillerish than I had originally planned, but I needed to throw it in in order to set things up for the next part. I thought I'd have this whole fic wrapped up in 5 chapters, but, as you can see, that's not going to happen. Heh. This thing just keeps growing. Also, this is where we start to divert from cannon. I haven't quite figured out how drastically I plan to divert, but you can definitely expect some differences. :) A big thanks to everyone who's been kind enough to read, review, or leave kudos so far. I really appreciate your support!

“…and you asked me to.”

It’s a simple and seemingly harmless statement, but the unmistakable condescension in Rachel’s voice practically stabs Charlie in the gut, and she has no other choice but to momentarily look away from her mother’s blatantly patronizing stare.

For a brief second, Charlie almost gives in to the feelings of guilt that have been skirting around her heart, trying to tear up her insides for weeks, ever since she made the choice to form an alliance with Monroe, but—

“We should head back,” Miles says at the exact right moment.

—her defiant, survival-infused instincts immediately kick in, denying her the chance to feel anything else.

“You guys go ahead,” she says. “I’m gonna stay here.” She looks directly at her mother. “With Bass.”

It’s the first time she’s ever used his first name, and she watches smugly as the anger instantly flashes across her mother’s face.

“I mean, someone has to. Right?” Charlie purposefully continues. “To make sure he comes down…and doesn’t leave?”

“And who says that has to be you?” Rachel demands.

“Okay, okay…that’s enough. Both of you.” Miles steps between them in an attempt to diffuse the escalating tension between mother and daughter. His attempt is futile.

Charlie, especially, has no intention of backing down. Her arrogant expression remains in tact as she continues to gawk past her uncle, at her mother. “You said so yourself it’ll take a couple of days for him to fully bounce back. What if he needs something during that time? Food, water….” Her face only softens when she looks at Miles. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for someone to stay here…rather than us going back and forth to check on him and running the risk of getting caught?”

Miles sighs in defeat. He scratches the back of his neck before turning to Rachel. He shrugs. “Kid’s got a point.”

“Unbelievable,” Rachel exhales, indignantly rubbing her forehead.

“So then it’s settled.” Charlie crosses her arms over her chest and stares at Monroe, who has once again passed out. “I’m staying here.”

“You know what? _Fine_ , Charlie,” Rachel huffs. “I’m done here. Do whatever the hell you want, and don’t come to me when something goes wrong.” She grabs her pack and storms away.

“Rachel….” Miles tries to stop her, but she doesn’t even acknowledge his existence. She simply walks out and slams the door behind her.

“Well, what do you know?” Charlie bitterly spits out. “She’s walking away from her problems and her family. Again.”

Miles rolls his eyes at her. “Look…kid….”

Charlie watches him, her face expectant. 

“I’m not gonna defend your mom. She’s being kind of irrational. But at the same time, just…just don’t do anything stupid. Okay?”

Charlie raises her eyebrows, angry. She’s so tired of everyone talking to her like she’s some stupid, reckless child. “I’m sorry, what exactly do you think I’m going to do here?”

Miles just sighs, shakes his head, and grabs his things. He’s almost to the door before he turns around again. “Seriously, though,” he says. “Remember who you’re dealing with here. Okay?”

For some reason, she feels her anger subside just a bit. She knows Miles means well, which is more than Charlie can say about her mother, unfortunately. “I’ll be fine, Miles,” she assures him. “I spent weeks on the road with him, didn’t I?”

Miles gives her a tired, half-hearted smirk and leaves.

She exhales loudly in an attempt to calm herself down and then ends up absentmindedly staring at the closed door for several minutes. When neither her mother nor Miles reappear, she lets out another exhausted sigh and plants herself in a chair next to Monroe’s bed.

She watches him sleep for quite a while. His face is relaxed, his bare chest rising and falling rhythmically as he inhales and exhales deep, steady breaths. He looks nothing like the man who slept beside her every night while they were traveling back to Willoughby together. But then again, this is probably the first time she’s gotten a good look at him – a _truly_ good look; and what she sees causes a strange, unidentifiable stirring in her stomach.

She realizes then that this is also the first time she’s really seen him sleep. The drugs are probably to blame, because normally, he twitches and fidgets his way through the night as he faces one nightmare after another.

But today, as he sleeps the day away, he looks peaceful. And for once…human.

Without thinking, she scoots her chair closer and leans down to examine his face more closely. She stares hard and long at his aged and freckled, dirt-smeared skin and wonders what he was like when he was younger…when he was her age, perhaps – before the blackout and the Monroe Republic…ultimately, before he became the mysterious monster that is now known as Sebastian Monroe.

Just a few weeks ago, she never would have given even a second’s thought to the man behind the monster. Just a few weeks ago, she wanted nothing more than to kill him (and had even attempted to end him herself), so that he’d never again have another chance to hurt anyone else like he’d hurt her.

But now, more than anything, she finds herself curious about him. She wonders about his past, his pain, his trauma. She’s sure he has a story, and she finds herself desperately curious about whatever it was that pushed him completely over the edge. People aren't just born broken. Something has to break them. Most probably, she assumes it was a culmination of several things that broke him.

“Who _are_ you?” She whispers at his sleeping form, her warm breath hitting his unpretentious face but failing to provoke even a simple twitch from him.

Her slew of questions remains at the forefront of her thoughts, but her exhaustion gets the best of her. She eventually drifts off to sleep, her forehead awkwardly falling onto Monroe’s bare shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come! Please leave a review!


	6. You and Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, here's the next chapter! This is going along a little slower than I had anticipated, but I really want to do justice to these characters and their journey. So I hope no one minds the somewhat slow progression. Thank you for sticking with me and leaving such awesome reviews so far! And a Happy New Year to all!

“Charlotte….”

It isn’t until she hears her name that she snaps her eyes open, whips her head up, and looks, startled, into a pair of deep blue, slightly inebriated orbs that are staring right back at her.

A warm blush infiltrates her cheeks when she realizes she fell asleep on Monroe’s shoulder – for God knows how long – and she quickly clears her throat and sits back up in her chair.

Her heart and mind both begin to race as she sheepishly stares at her lap, not daring to look up at him. She doesn’t need to look at him, though, to know that his gaze is deliberately fixed on her. She feels the permeation of his concentrated stare, and it causes her skin to crawl with…well, she’s not entirely sure what, but she knows it’s neither fear, nor disgust, nor hate. This is something different, something new, entirely.

Charlie mentally chastises herself for her sudden, unidentifiable mix of emotions. Ever since her trip to New Vegas – but even more so since the night of his execution, it’s like she can’t get a grip on herself when it comes to all things Monroe. And she hates it. Hates _herself_ for it. Or maybe she hates the mere fact that she _doesn’t_ actually hate herself or what he’s doing to her. She groans internally. Her head is spinning. What the hell is happening to her?

Some time passes, and neither of them say a word. Charlie mindlessly picks at her fingernails and waits…for what, exactly? She hasn’t the foggiest idea.

It’s Monroe’s sudden snort that grabs her attention and forces her to drop her thoughts and look back up at him.

She watches in confusion as he begins to laugh uninhibitedly to the point where he’s clutching his stomach, gasping for air, and trying to hold back tears.

 _‘What the hell?’_ She wonders, glowering at him. But she doesn’t dare ask him why he’s laughing. While she concludes the hysteria is just another side effect from the drugs that are clearly still in his system, she’s not sure she really wants to know the psycho’s actual source of amusement. Whatever it is, it can’t be good, she surmises.

But eventually, her mild, disinterested annoyance grows into impatient anger, because Monroe goes on laughing and laughing and laughing for much longer than Charlie deems necessary.

“What?” She finally barks at him, knowing full well that she’ll probably regret ever asking. She mentally braces herself for whatever sociopathic one-liner he’s about to throw at her.

He, however, just exhales a long, deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure. Then he turns his head and knowingly, almost sinisterly, smiles at her. “Nothing.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs, partially from relief, while wanting nothing more than to slap the arrogant but slightly adorable, drug-induced smirk right off of his face.

“That was a whole lot of laughing for _nothing_ ,” she grumbles.

“Yeah, well….” He tucks his left forearm behind his head and continues grinning at her. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

She watches closely, her eyes narrowing, as he readjusts his head on his pillow and casually stares up at the ceiling.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” He says.

She furrows her brows. “What’s ironic?”

“This.” He motions between them. “You and me. Here. You waiting for the drugs to flush out of _my_ system.”

Her mind instantly flashes back to that rainy night in the woods after he rescued her from those scumbags at the bar. It hadn’t been the first time he’d saved her, either.

Despite everything, after all the damage he’s done to her and to the people she cares for…and even after her multiple attempts to kill him, it’s like he somehow always finds his way to her, exactly when she needs him most.

The thought pummels into her like a freight train: her…Charlotte Matheson…needing Sebastian Monroe….

And now here she is, at his beside, attending to him when he needs someone.

Which makes her immediately question her own sanity and her reasons for being here at all. Is it really just to piss off her mom? Is it simply that she doesn’t trust Monroe to stay put after he has recuperated?

…or is there more?

She huffs out a flustered sigh and tries to ignore her multitude of questions. Monroe might be the one on drugs, but clearly, her brain isn’t functioning properly either.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, Charlotte, I’d say you’re obsessed with me.” His snarky comment breaks her from her insane mental ramblings.

God, she hates him. And yet, deep down, she knows she doesn’t. “In your dreams,” she spits back at him, incredulous.

“You have no idea,” he whispers, his eyes suddenly bolder and more serious as he looks right at her.

Charlie feels a sudden, panicked flutter in the pit of her stomach. ‘ _What the fuck?_ ’ “Excuse me?”

He simply chuckles, seeming fully aware – even in his intoxicated state – of the fact that he has managed to get under her skin (which perhaps was entirely his point). Once again, he lifts his gaze to the ceiling. “So your mom’s probably just ecstatic that you’re here with me, huh?”

She doesn’t bother answering him. Instead, she internally reprimands herself for her inner babblings while simultaneously cursing the man beside her.

 

\- - -

 

Charlie’s heart, stuck in her throat, pounds furiously as she stands in silence, holding her breath, back pressed tight against the doorway, her gun at the ready. She can feel the pure adrenaline violently coursing through her veins as the sound of surreptitiously moving boots rounds the corner of the old high school hallway and comes closer and closer.

Two, four…at least five…quite possibly even six Patriots are just yards away, and there’s no way this fight won’t end bloody.

Her anxious eyes seek out Monroe’s. He stands across the hall, just a few feet away, pistol in hand, his blue eyes trained on hers and burning with a strange blend of calmness and expectancy.

And for a moment…just for a moment, Charlie feels like everything will be okay. If there’s any one person whose company she genuinely wants right now, it’s his. Aside from Miles, he’s the only other person who stands even a chance at getting them both out of here alive.

The question is…will he?

Charlie nearly chokes on her own panic when he suddenly answers her unuttered question – in the worst possible way. She watches in frozen horror as his eyes flit over to the exit sign above the door in front of him and then back to her. The fucking bastard gives her a small side nod as if to say he’s sorry and then, without even an ounce of hesitation, heads straight for that door, never once looking back, and leaving her there to face the Patriots all on her own.

Her stomach churns, and she feels just about ready to puke. She’s going to fucking kill him. For real this time. If he doesn’t die during this fight, she is determined to find the son of a bitch and finish the job herself – that is, if she can survive this fight, herself.

The Patriots’ footsteps get closer, and she genuinely wonders if this will be it for her. Is this where it will all come to a brutal, bloody end?

She knows she doesn’t stand a chance against the Patriots; she hardly stood a chance even with Monroe by her side…but at least it was still a chance. Now, nothing seems certain, except perhaps death. All hope seems completely lost. He abandoned her this time. Just like everyone else has always done.

But now is not the time to get swept up in her personal tragedy, she decides. She knows she still has to give this everything she’s got, even if her life is about to end. At the very least, she’s got to buy herself some time so she can go down fighting hard.

So that’s what she does. She buys herself time by opening the closest locker and climbing inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, pleeeease leave a review! I'm super iffy about this chapter - it kind of wrote itself in some ways, so I would love to know what you readers think. Thanks! xoxo


	7. Where Exactly Are We Going?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: canon-divergence ahead. But I think ya'll will like where this is headed. ;)

Charlie strains to listen for noises outside her metal hiding place. The Patriots are still out there, she’s sure, but from the confines of the locker, she can’t figure out just how close or how far they are. She doesn’t hear footsteps anymore, so that either means they’re silently waiting right outside – for her – or, if fate decides to be kind to her for once, they’ve all moved on to another abandoned corridor in the school.

She prays hard for the latter as she opens the locker door and cautiously steps out. But she knows deep down that if there’s anything she’s learned in her short, mostly miserable life, it’s that the worst-case scenario is usually what ends up happening to her.

Once again, that life principle proves itself correct.

Before she can even finish processing her thoughts, she feels her body being grabbed and slammed against the cold cement wall. Rabid blue eyes stare menacingly into hers, and she concludes to herself that they’re the last set of eyes she’ll look into before death takes her.

She makes a point to sneer at the Patriot who holds her captive between the wall and his gun. If this is to be her end, she refuses to show fear or uncertainty in any shape or form.

And then it happens.

When exactly the second Patriot appeared at her left is beyond her, but the next thing she knows, the guy’s neck is gushing blood, and he falls right to the floor.

And _he_ is there.

He came back.

For _her_.

Charlie quickly finishes off her distracted assailant by stabbing him in the stomach, and in a matter of seconds, he, too, becomes a pile of bloody, lifeless limbs on the floor.

Her breathing is ragged as she reaches down and grabs a Patriot gun. Then she stares at Monroe. 

“You came back.” She’s still pissed as hell that he abandoned her earlier, but she fails to hide the sense of relief in her voice. God only knows what changed his mind, but at least he’s here now.

He doesn’t say anything. But there’s a strange warmness in his eyes that sends her mind into a frenzy and causes a shiver to crawl down her spine.

“Go,” he whispers when they hear Patriot voices at the other end of the hall.

Charlie whips her head toward the sound.

“Go!” Monroe repeats more firmly.

And they flee. Together. Guns blazing, hearts and minds unified, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 

***

 

‘ _There is something_ seriously _wrong with me_ ,’ Bass thinks to himself.

He and Charlie are next to each other, crouched down behind large piles of rubble in the old high school gymnasium.

The situation is one of danger and pure chaos; bullets and blood are flying everywhere, and Patriot soldiers are falling to their deaths left and right. If anything, he should be focused on the very real possibility that he might die in a few minutes. While they currently have the upper hand, there’s no knowing what might happen next; anything could go wrong at any given moment.

Yet all he can think about is how fucking hot Charlie looks, her dark blonde hair dangling in front of her face, expression hard and determined, as she shoots down one Patriot after another.

The girl has turned into quite a little solider. It’s as if she was made for this type of situation. She’s brash and bold and fearless and fucking beautiful. And he wants her. He desperately wants her.

Their eyes meet for a moment, and he feels the blood rush straight to his groin. If they weren’t in the middle of an all-out battle, he’d pin her to the floor right then and there, and fuck her brains out.

‘ _God, what is wrong with me?!_ ’ He rhetorically asks himself again. But if he’s truly honest, he doesn’t regret the thoughts. At all.

He shoots down another Patriot and watches as the body flops to the floor.

The fighting goes on for some time, and he continues to steal looks at Charlie every time he can. God, she’s gorgeous. She’s really fucking gorgeous.

She frequently meets his stares, always eyeing him to make sure he doesn’t leave again, and this time, there’s a certain fire in her eyes that makes Bass wonder if she’s having the same, less than virtuous thoughts as he currently is. But she’s Charlotte Matheson – not the girl from his dream who is madly in love with him but the girl who, in reality, tried, on multiple occasions, to kill him, and with good reason. She couldn’t possibly want him. Like _that_.

Could she?

Bass finds himself suddenly caught off guard when Charlie’s expression changes. But this time, she’s not looking at him. Her gaze shifts to the enormous ball of flames that have suddenly ignited right in front of them. Literally, there is a Patriot solider on fire. And then another one. And another one.

Stay Puft.

 

\- - -

 

They all make it back to the storm cellar – their new safe house, for now, but no one feels even the least bit safe.

Miles lies unconscious, his body overrun by fever, exhaustion, and infection. Aaron is quiet and mournful over the loss of Cynthia, whom they lost earlier at the school. Charlie looks nervous and uncertain.

“Rachel,” Gene’s voice shakes as he utters his daughter’s name upon their reunion. “I’m sorry…for everything.”

Rachel doesn’t answer and quickly embraces her father.

Bass feels sick to his stomach. If he has to witness another Porter/Matheson Family Hallmark moment, he’s seriously going to lose it.

“This is touching, really,” he says, not meaning a single word and not caring in the least if he sounds completely inconsiderate. He glares hard at Gene. “Go help him.”

Gene swallows nervously as he assesses Miles’s condition. “I’m gonna need a few things.”

Hours later, the group’s collective anxiety finally lessens when Gene assures them all that Miles will be just fine after a bit of rest.

One by one, they all drift off to sleep. Except Bass. Sleep feels damn near impossible, because his head feels almost as foggy as it did when he was sedated. And this time, so does his heart.

He lies there, staring at the ceiling and replaying the day’s events in his mind. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the hungry, wanton look on Charlie’s face as they fight side by side in the school gym. Again and again, he mentally replays those moments, and every time he does, he finds his desire for Charlie growing. 

 

***

 

Hateful anger stabs at Charlie's heart as she watches her family the next day. Miles is finally awake, and her mother is glued to his side as if he’s the only one whose life was in danger back at that school. Rachel has hardly said a word to her daughter since they've been back in the storm cellar. She hasn’t once asked if Charlie’s okay. Then again, why should she? She’s Rachel, after all. When has Charlie ever been her real concern? Her first priority?

Charlie grits her teeth and watches as her mother and uncle stare into each other’s eyes like a pair of long lost lovers who are finally reunited. They gaze at each other as if there’s no one else around, and the whole thing is goddamned sickening, really.

An amused smile threatens to spill past Charlie’s lips when Monroe suddenly storms in and abruptly breaks up their little love trance. He completely disregards Rachel’s protests and starts demanding that Miles tell him where his son is. 

‘ _That’s right, Monroe has a son,_ ’ Charlie remembers. And suddenly, she feels a great sense of sadness come over her. She watches from the corner of the room as Monroe argues with Miles. It’s a scene she’s seen play out many times in the last few weeks, but there’s something different about it this time.

 _Something different._ That phrase has been dancing around in Charlie’s head quite a lot lately when it comes to Monroe. The man has changed. For better or for worse, Charlie’s not really sure, but he’s unarguably different. Maybe even softer somehow…in a Monroe sort of way, at least.

“I’ll do you one better.” Miles’s half-delirious words yank Charlie out of her ponderings. “I’ll take you to him.”

“ _No_. Absolutely not,” Rachel instantly objects. “You’re not in _any_ condition to go anywhere right now.”

“No one’s asking you!” Monroe fires back, his blue eyes zealously impassioned.

“I don’t care, the answer is _no_.” Rachel’s expression is just as heated, and she refuses to back down.

“I’ll go with him....”

It’s Charlie’s sudden offer that forces them all into stunned silence.

Rachel looks like she’s just been punched in the gut as she glares hard at her daughter. “Excuse me?”

Charlie shrugs as nonchalantly as she possibly can, knowing full well that it's making her mother even more miserable. “The man needs to find his son. And Miles is too weak to go. So I’ll go.”

Her eyes briefly flit over to Monroe. He’s smiling.

“Fucking hell…” Miles sighs, defeat clear on his pale countenance.

“Charlie, listen to me—” Rachel starts.

“No, Mom, _you_ listen,” Charlie quips right back.

“Yeah, Rachel,” Monroe adds condescendingly, “how about _you_ listen this time.”

"You shut the hell up, you son of a bitch." Rachel sneers at Monroe. She looks like a shaken up soda bottle that’s about to explode.

Charlie knows she’s walking the edge of a knife, but she continues. “Look, if it hadn’t been for Monroe, I wouldn’t have made it out of that school alive. And honestly, Grandpa wouldn’t be here with us, either. Call him a monster or whatever the hell you want, but the fact is...the man saved the very person who tried to execute him.”

Gene guiltily stares down at his shoes without a word.

Charlie brazenly stares back at her mother, her eyes filled with challenge and resolve. “He’s helped us. A _lot_ more than he needed to. The least we can do is help him find his son.”

Rachel throws her face into her hands and begins to cry.

Charlie turns to Miles, who looks far too sick and drained to even try to stop her.

“So where exactly are we going?” She asks.

He sighs and shakes his head. “Mexico.”

“Well….” A huge smile is plastered to Monroe’s face. He turns to Charlie and winks. “Grab your shit, kid. I’ll go get the horses ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this fic has seriously taken on a life of its own. I'm having WAY too much fun with this! Hehe! Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to leave reviews. Seriously, I love reading your thoughts and am beyond thrilled that everyone is enjoying this fic so far! Please continue to drop a line. You guys are the best. xoxo


	8. Kid

The mid-afternoon sun hangs high in the cloudless South Texas sky, coating everything within its path in a sweltering, tawny glow. A layer of rippling heat radiates off of the golden fields that separate the Republic of Texas from Mexico, and Charlie sighs, rubbing the back of her aching, sweat-drenched neck, as she stands on a small hill and stares out at the border.

She’s exhausted. Her body is sore and dirty; her mind, a jumbled up mess. She wants nothing more than to take a bath and a good, long nap, but she knows she won’t be getting either of those anytime soon.

Monroe insisted that they ride fast and hard with minimum stops for the past two days in an effort to reach the Mexican border as quickly as possible. So that’s what they did. And their journey turned out to be…well, quiet. Surprisingly quiet and rather cordial, in fact.

If only Charlie could say the same thing about her thoughts. Those had been anything but quiet throughout the journey. And her topic of choice was almost exclusively the man standing next to her.

She discreetly looks to her right and drinks in the sight beside her. Monroe. Smudges of dirt cover his damp, sweaty skin. He’s taken off the raggedy button down shirt he always wears, and the heat of the day is causing his sleeveless, v-neck t-shirt to cling tightly to his lean, muscular form. Charlie watches, transfixed, as a single bead of sweat slides down his long, tanned neck, past his collarbone, to the exposed flesh of his hardened chest. Suddenly, she has an overwhelming desire to taste his salty, dirt-smudged skin.    

She shudders at the thought and quickly looks away before he notices.

“Mexico…Miles fucking brought my kid to _Mexico_ ,” Monroe grumbles as he pushes his fingers through his sweaty curls and squints at the fields before them.

His bicep flexes as a result of the motion, and Charlie swallows and clears her throat. “So…what’s our play?”

Monroe glances at her almost angrily, his jaw flexed, but Charlie knows the man is just tired and frustrated. And who can blame him?

When he doesn’t say anything, she nods towards the armed guards who are stationed at the border entrance. “How are we supposed to get past those guys?”

His expression softens ever so slightly as he considers their options. Then he has an idea and almost smiles. Almost. “Charlie…how are your acting skills?”

 

\- - -

 

“Please, Señor. You have to let us in,” Monroe miserably pleads. “We’ve been walking for days, and this is the first sign of civilization we’ve seen in miles.”

Charlie’s eyes are closed, but if Monroe’s tone is any indicator, she’s beyond certain that he’s using his desperate puppy dog eyes on the guard.  She can hear the tears in his voice, and it momentarily makes her sick to her stomach. The bastard really _can_ cry on command, just like she’s always suspected.

“Please,” Monroe repeats, his voice nothing more than a weak crackle. “My wife is sick. She needs water and a place to rest immediately.”

Charlie uses every ounce of willpower she has to not pop open her eyes and roll them. She still can’t believe _this_ is Monroe’s great plan to get them into Mexico – not to mention the fact that she actually agreed to it.

She’s in his arms like a lifeless ragdoll – a supposed victim of dehydration and heat exhaustion; or, at least, that’s the story they’re trying to sell to the Mexican border patrol. But her body feels anything but lifeless at the moment. If anything, the close bodily contact between her and Monroe is sending her nerves into an uncontrollable frenzy. She can feel the heat emitting off of his firm body, and she repeatedly tells herself that it’s all just a result of the hot afternoon and nothing more. Over and over again, she repeats that mental mantra to herself.

The guards finally mutter something to each other in what Charlie assumes is Spanish, and then she hears the chain link fence that separates the two countries being pushed open.

“Oh, thank you…thank you. Gracias!” Monroe exhales dramatically and tightens his grip on his pretend wife as he carries her into Mexico.

Charlie remains in his arms and keeps her body flaccid and her eyes closed as he walks them a few paces and then says something in broken Spanish to a nearby civilian. Shortly after, she feels herself being placed into the bed of a wagon. Several other people climb in as well, and then all of a sudden, Monroe is pulling her into his lap and cradling her close to himself.

She finally opens her eyes and stares confusedly into his, but he immediately gives her a stern look, as if to say: _don’t blow this_. He then pushes the side of her face into the crook of his neck and rests his scruffy chin on the top of her head. When exactly her arm went around his neck is anyone’s guess as good as hers, but there it is, and Charlie decides that now is not the time to protest.

The ride into town is bumpy and uncomfortable, but Charlie honestly can’t decide if her main source of discomfort is the rickety old wagon or the fact that she’s still in the arms of the man she once tried to kill. He’s so close now that she can smell his musky, leathery, sweaty scent – which should be repugnant, but is in fact the exact opposite. She willingly breathes him in and almost moans in delight as his smell consumes her nostrils, but she somehow manages to hold it in. Her heart is practically palpitating inside her chest, and she wonders if Monroe can feel it through their threadbare clothing.

‘ _What have I gotten myself into?_ ’ Charlie asks herself. This definitely wasn’t what she signed on for when she agreed to help Monroe find his son. At the same time, she’s not sure she’s complaining. And that frightens her. It frightens her very much.

She practically jumps when the pad of Monroe’s thumb suddenly begins to trace slow circles against the exposed skin of her lower back. At first, she assumes it’s just a slip of the hand, but when his hand stays there and repeats its steady, deliberate motion, Charlie’s head begins to spin. She can’t help but tighten her grip around his neck as she feels the goose bumps forming on her flesh. She so desperately wants to look up into his face, but she knows better. One wrong move now, and their cover will be blown.

So she remains as still and as limp as she possibly can, head still tucked under Monroe’s chin, arm draped around his neck, body pressed tight against his, while his fingers continue their silent torment.

A whimper finally does slip past her lips, and Monroe’s hand stops. Charlie immediately mentally kicks herself.

“What’s wrong with her?” An older man with a thick Hispanic accent asks.

“Heat exhaustion,” Monroe answers. “She’ll be okay. She just needs water and rest.”

“She’s very beautiful,” the man states, his tone transparently perverse.

“Yes, she is.” Monroe protectively tightens his arms around Charlie and pulls her in even closer. His voice is possessive, and Charlie can’t help but smirk against his chest when he adds, “and she’s mine.”

 

\- - -

 

“What the hell was that back there?” Charlie finally asks once they’re inside the seedy little motel room that Monroe has managed to acquire for them.

“What?” He doesn’t look at her as he tosses his things into the corner of the room and pulls his button down shirt back on over his t-shirt.

“That whole… _she’s mine_ bullshit.” Charlie watches him closely, almost untrustingly.

“It’s called… _acting_ , Charlotte.” He glares at her for a long string of seconds. But then he softens his expression and his tiredness reappears. “Look, you didn’t see the way that horny old bastard was ogling you. I was just trying to make it crystal clear to him and anyone else around that you’re off limits. The last thing I need right now is another repeat of that middle-of-nowhere bar situation.”

“Wow.” Charlie crosses her arms and tries her best not to smile. “I never realized you cared so much, Monroe.”

She notices his continued agitation as he silently organizes his belongings.

“Look, kid,” he eventually says, “if anything happens to you on this trip, Miles is going to kill me. So…I’m _sorry_ for trying to look out for you.”

A smile continues to threaten Charlie’s lips, but she rolls her eyes and flops down onto the lumpy old mattress. Monroe’s been doing that a lot lately…calling her _kid_. And she realizes she absolutely hates it.

“Yeah, well….” She offers him a cheeky grin. “My mom’s probably gonna kill you either way…so….”

He doesn’t answer and walks into the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

They spend the rest of the afternoon going door to door, trying to find any information they can on Connor Bennett, Monroe’s son, who, according to Miles, has apparently been living in Mexico with his aunt and uncle. But they make very little progress. They speak to at least half the town, and no one seems to know much about the Bennetts – and the other half, with which they don’t speak, are all people who hardly speak a word of English.

Charlie wonders if they’ll find Connor at all. For all they know, he might not even be alive. But she doesn’t say anything to Monroe. The man is an abyss of mental instability, and finding out his son might be dead surely won’t go over well.

Later that night, they end up in a dingy little tavern for dinner and some much-needed drinks. Charlie finds herself on edge, though, and she nervously fidgets in her seat as she takes in her surroundings. All around her are a bunch of old drunk men and several scantily clad women, much like the ones she saw in New Vegas, but there’s something much darker and shadier about this place than New Vegas. Charlie’s never considered herself a prude, but the place makes her skin crawl, and she finds herself frequently scooting closer to Monroe in a subconscious effort to stay within his protection.

She watches uncomfortably as a busty brunette suddenly approaches their table – approaches Monroe, rather; she doesn’t pay so much as a glance toward Charlie. She leans down and suggestively whispers something in Monroe’s ear while her large, barely covered breasts teasingly rub against his right bicep.

Charlie grits her teeth. She grabs the shot glass full of tequila that’s been sitting in front of her for quite some time and instantly downs it. The alcohol burns down her throat, but the feeling is nothing compared to the burning she now feels in her heart.

The brunette’s long index finger meanders over to Monroe’s shirt collar. Charlie watches as the woman’s questing digit goes lower, toward his chest, and how he does absolutely nothing to stop her. In fact, the stupid bastard is smiling.

Before she can even think to stop herself, Charlie grabs him by his shirt and smashes her lips against his. The brunette shrieks and backs up, and Monroe’s whiskey ends up spilling all over Charlie’s shirt and into her lap, but she couldn’t care less. She yanks him closer, disregarding his tense frame and keeps kissing him with desperate urgency.

He attempts to say something against her lips, but she swallows his words before they even have a chance to become audible. Her fingers are tightly interlocked behind his neck now, and to her surprise, his hands have found their way to her shoulders. He’s opened his mouth, too, and he’s kissing her back instead of merely reacting to her actions. It’s harsh and sloppy and a little bit pathetic, but Charlie refuses to stop.

Until he finally pushes her back.

Their eyes meet: heated blue against blue, and Charlie finds herself panting for air as she glowers hard at him.

“What the fuck was that?” He asks. He's breathing hard, too, but he’s surprisingly calm and not nearly as caught off guard as Charlie had expected him to be.

She straightens herself up and shrugs. “Acting.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath and situates his elbows on the table. His eyes focus on the wood surface instead of on her. “My god, kid.”

Charlie’s stomach drops. Damn the person who invented the word ‘ _kid_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the awesome reviews so far!! I really, genuinely appreciate all the support you guys are giving this story. Please continue with the reviews, as they help drive me to write more! Thanks, everyone! xoxo


	9. Everybody Leaves Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets angsty, and I’m terribly sorry! It won’t always be like this, I swear! But some darker drama is necessary to move this story along. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING(s): this chapter contains contemplations of suicide, and there’s also a mention of MCD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SOOOO much for all the wonderful reviews on the last chapter! I logged on to check comments and was completely floored by your epic comments and responses! I'll respond to each one when I can, but I was so excited to see such great reviews that I decided that an update was the first thing in order. :)

They leave the tavern shortly after with no further discussion of what happened inside. Charlie is mostly relieved that Monroe doesn’t prod her with any questions. Because if he did, she’s not sure she’d have any reasonable answers to give him, anyway. At the same time, she’s a bit unnerved by the very fact that he’s _not_ asking any questions; he’s acting as though what happened back there was perfectly acceptable and normal, nothing at all out of the ordinary.

She wonders why she kissed him in the first place. But the question itself (let alone the answer) makes her nauseous, so she quickly banishes it from her mind and refuses to entertain an actual answer.

She tries to think of other things…anything, really, that might serve as a worthy distraction. Some of the time, she’s successful; some of the time, she’s not.

As they silently walk back to their motel, side by side, surrounded by the cool evening air, Charlie notices the deep, hollow sadness that has settled over Monroe’s rugged features.

She expects him to be angry…angry at the fact that they’ve been in Mexico for almost a full day and have yet to learn any substantial information on Connor’s whereabouts; angry that she kissed him; angry that she didn’t explain herself after kissing him; angry that she potentially cost him a chance to get laid; angry at Miles for hiding Connor in the first place; just…angry. At life. In general.

But instead, he just looks depressed and wounded and extremely tired. He looks like the hollow shell of a human being who has lost his way and is simply trying, as best as he can, to make it to the next morning. He looks like a person who’s simply surviving, not living.    

To think that he’s the same man who once was a heinous dictator, who committed unthinkable atrocities against thousands of people and commanded fear in the hearts of so many people seems almost surreal and unbelievable now.

How _is_ he the same man? Charlie wonders. Perhaps…he’s not. Not anymore, at least.

She thinks back to that night in Philadelphia when Strausser held her at gunpoint – the way General Monroe’s astoundingly blue eyes burned with sickening anticipation as he watched – even _waited_ for her to die. Those same blue eyes have haunted Charlie’s dreams night after night for months. She wonders if they’ll haunt her for the rest of her life. A part of her even expects that to be the case.

And yet, whenever she’s awake, those same blue eyes – more importantly, the man to whom those eyes belong – make her feel safer than anything or anyone else. And now that she’s gotten to know him a little better, she finds herself wanting to somehow remove the pain she constantly sees in those same blue eyes…all the while knowing that his pain goes far too deep and is most likely irreversible.

Even if they find Connor, and even if Connor miraculously accepts his father with open arms, Charlie wonders if it will ever be enough to redeem Monroe. Because, truly, how does one get back up after they’ve fallen so far?

“What?”

Charlie comes to a rapid halt when she realizes she’s been caught staring at him.

“Nothing…I….” She exhales slowly but anxiously and stares down at her dust-covered boots. “I’m sorry.”

What exactly is she apologizing for? She’s not even sure she knows anymore.

“Look, if you’ve got something you wanna say to me, Charlotte…then just say it. Alright? Otherwise, _stop_ looking at me like I’m some stupid, wounded puppy.” He turns briskly and starts to walk ahead of her, creating a noticeable amount of space between them.

‘ _Okay, so he is angry_.’ Charlie suddenly feels guilty and a little bit sick. “I’m sorry I kissed you!” She slaps a hand over her mouth as soon as the words have left it.

Her confession stops him dead in his tracks, and he hangs his head down for a moment.

It takes him quite a while before he finally turns and looks back at her. He’s just far enough away that Charlie’s not entirely sure, but she swears she sees a despondent smile on his lips.

“No, you’re not,” he simply says.

She is flabbergasted. That…was just about the last thing she expected him to say. She stands there, not uttering a word.

Then Monroe starts to walk toward her.

“Why’d you even come to Mexico, Charlie?”

“I….” She begins, but her explanation dies on her lips. She stares down at her feet again.

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of fucked up games you’re trying to play with your mom…or Miles…or _whatever_. And I get that you don’t give a rat’s ass about me. And honestly…that’s fine. But I’m telling you right now – I don’t have time for your games. Okay? I’m here to find my son, and _that’s_ it.”

She doesn’t realize how deep his words cut her until a tear suddenly slides down her cheek. She doesn’t look up. She can’t. For all the times she has faced him (and basically every other challenge) head on, this time, she can’t even bring herself to make eye contact with him.  

“Go back to the room, Charlotte.” He’s not fucking around anymore, and his tone is suddenly chillingly resonant of General Monroe.

She feels her stomach flip in the most unpleasant way when he roughly grabs her hand, shoves the room key into her palm, and then pushes past her, headed in the opposite direction of their motel.

When he’s far enough away, she takes the risk of turning and watching him walk. He doesn’t look back.

Her heart feels like its been ripped in half and handed to her as she once again comes to terms with the one truth that never fails to ring true in her joke of a life:

Everyone always leaves her.

Even Sebastian Monroe.

 

***   

 

Bass walks and walks and walks until he physically can’t do it anymore. His body is literally shaking by the time he slumps onto a barstool at some hole-in-the-wall bar in the next town over.

He’s glad to be away from that crapfest of a town Miles dumped his son in. He’s also glad to be away from Charlie for a bit. He knows he’ll eventually have to go back, but for now, he’s glad to be here, where no one knows him, where he can silently drink away his problems.

He orders a glass of whiskey and tosses the whole thing back in one swift, angry gulp. Then he orders another one and repeats. Then another…and another….

“Let me guess…lady troubles?”

Bass looks up and finds a blond-haired man in a cowboy hat, probably about the same age as Bass, smirking at him from a few stools over.

“Little more complicated than that,” Bass responds gruffly. _‘So much for drinking in silence.’_

The man nods slowly. Knowingly. “Well, then…I’d hate to be in your shoes.”

Bass doesn’t reply and goes back to his drink. He hopes the stranger will take the hint.

“In my experience, though, women are perhaps the most complicated creatures the universe has ever given us. And when they’re angry? My god. Not many situations can be more complicated than that which involves the scorn of a woman.”

Bass groans. Can anything go his way today? Apparently not.

“Yeah, well, finding out you have a kid twenty five years too late probably fits into that ‘not many’ category.” He winces as soon as the words are out. Why the fuck did he just tell this stranger his problems?

“Ah, so it _is_ a woman-related problem…though, indirectly, I suppose.”

Bass looks up and glares incredulously at the man, who seems a little drunk and a lot unfazed.

“So where’s your kid now?” The man asks casually.

“Fuck if I know,” Bass snarls. “If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting in this shithole, telling you about it, now would I?”

“Alright, alright. Take it easy.” The man takes a sip of his drink. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, pal. Guess I was just trying to take my mind off of my own struggles.”

“And what struggles might those be?” His tone is sarcastic, and Bass isn’t really sure why he even asks. It’s not like he actually cares.

“My godson just died.”

_‘Oh.’_

That gets Bass’s attention. He frowns at the man, who now absentmindedly stares at the liquor shelf.

“He was young, too. Only twenty-five. Had a terrible life that he never asked for. Got mixed up in the wrong crowd. And then he just….” The man’s words trail off, and he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” Bass answers pitifully, knowing that the words are completely inadequate.

The man offers a weary, forced smile. “Yeah, me, too. Connor was a good kid.”

Bass immediately feels sick. Dizzy. The room instantly starts to spin. His heart pounds hard and feels like it’s trapped inside his throat.

His new acquaintance notices. “Uh…buddy? You alright?”

Bass shakes his head, which is now pounding. “I just…did you just….”

“What is it?” The man quickly moves to the empty stool next to Bass. Even in his buzzed state, he looks concerned.

Bass stares at him. “Your son—godson…his name was Connor?”

“That’s right.” The man looks both concerned and confused.

“And he’s… _was_ …twenty-five?”

The man nods. “Yeah.”

Bass closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, there’s deep desperation written across his countenance. “Please don’t tell me his last name was Bennett.”

The color instantly drains from the man’s face. He looks as if he’s just seen a ghost. “How…how did you….”

Bass’s eyes begin to glisten with fresh, hot tears. “I think…I think your godson Connor was my son.”

 

\- - -

 

Charlie stands at the window of her motel room, staring out at the Mexican landscape. Everything is calm and still, and the dark, clear sky is heavily dotted with lots of stars. A brilliantly white, full moon hangs high in the sky.

She stares hard at the single dirt road in the distance, illuminated only by moonlight, for what feels like hours while hoping and praying that she’ll somehow see him making his way back. To her. But the longer she stares, the further her hopes fall.

When her eyes eventually threaten to close on her, she finally retires from the window and makes her way over to the bed. She curls up into a fetal position, feeling lost and more alone than she has in a very long time. She suddenly misses Miles. And her grandfather. And Aaron. Maybe even her mother.

Tomorrow, she’ll mostly likely have to begin the trek back to Willoughby all on her own. She wonders if she’ll even survive the return journey. Then she wonders if she’ll even survive the night tonight. She falls asleep knowing that her night will be a long one, filled with many unpleasant dreams. 

 

\- - -

 

Bass’s head is pounding. His heart feels like it’s been ripped right out of his chest and trampled on…repeatedly. His stomach is in severe knots, and it’s not just from the alcohol. His entire body feels numb.

He doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He _can’t_ think anymore. All he knows is he needs his gun. For all the times he has managed to cheat death or has gotten cold feet about ending his own life…this time, things are different. He’s certain now. There’s literally nothing left to live for.

He shoves his spare key into the keyhole of his and Charlie’s motel room. It’s late and dark, and he’s sure she’s asleep by now, which means he’ll be able to grab his gun and complete his task without her interfering.

The absurd irony of that suddenly punches him in the gut, and he nearly laughs as he thinks about it. Half of the reason death sounds so appealing in the first place is because it might…just _maybe_ …allow him to get back to his alternate reality. That same alternate reality in which he and Charlie have the perfect, carefree life. Together.

Here he is, planning to sneak past the very woman with whom he wants to be, so he can be with her in an entirely different dimension. To the average schmuck, the idea would sound ludicrous. Then again, he’s known for years that he’s a royally fucked up mess; and only truly fucked up people have the ability to think along such truly fucked up lines.

There’s also the very real possibility that once he pulls the trigger, he’ll just disappear into eternal nothingness. That’s fine, too, he supposes. Anything is certainly better than the joke he calls his life now.

His plans and his resolve both immediately crumble when he enters the dark motel room and takes in the sound of Charlie’s crying.

She’s whimpering and violently gasping for air while thrashing against the mattress, and Bass instantly knows what’s going on, because he’s seen this from her before. Many times, in fact.

She’s having a nightmare. She had a lot of them when they were traveling back to Willoughby together. But this one seems harsher than any Bass has ever observed in the past.

His protective instincts immediately kick in, and before he can even think about it, he’s climbing into bed with her.

“Charlotte…Charlotte! Wake up!” He begs, shaking her flailing form.

Her eyes fly open, and she struggles to breathe as she frantically looks around at the darkness that surrounds them. When she sees him next to her, she panics, still somewhat in her subconscious state, and begins to slap at him.

“Charlie! Charlie, stop!” Bass grabs her arms and practically pins her down on the mattress until she comes to and realizes where she is.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he assures her. “You were just having a nightmare.”

“Bass?” Her voice trembles, but she quits her frantic struggling.

“Yeah, Charlotte. I’m here.” He pulls her close and wraps his arms around her as tightly as he possibly can.

She’s still crying, but it’s much softer now, and he sighs in relief when he feels her finally relax against his frame.

“Bass, please…” she barely manages between hiccups.

“I’m here,” he repeats, pressing his lips to her clammy forehead. “I’m right here.”

She nods against the crook of his neck and tries to pull him closer. She’s still sobbing, though very gently. “Everyone leaves me. They all just…leave. Please don't....”

His heart breaks harder than he ever imagined possible, and he suddenly hates himself. How could he even _think_ about leaving her?

“Charlotte, I promise,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure why, but when I was writing this, I imagined the man in the bar being a character played by Josh Holloway. Lol. I just feel like he'd be the type to be in some random bar. Anyway, as always, thank you for reading and reviewing and supporting this fic. You guys are seriously the best! Please keep the reviews coming!!


	10. Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this fic hasn't been updated in several days! I went back to work on Monday (after several days off for the holidays), and this past week was really busy. Anyways! Here's the next chapter. For those of you who don't like smut...well, you may not like this chapter very much. :P

Bass’s eyes are bloodshot, and they burn like hell when he blinks them open the next morning. His head throbs incessantly and feels heavy, like someone stuffed it with a bag full of sharp rocks. He is exhausted. Beyond exhausted, actually. He is sleep deprived and hung-over.

And yet, today, he is smiling.

It’s morning; the night has faded, and he is still here – still alive.

And the very person who saved him is now fast asleep in his arms. Her tousled golden locks of hair are splayed over his chest where her head contentedly rests. Her chest rises and falls in a steady, sweet rhythm; the simple, peaceful movements of her body cause Bass’s heart to soar.

She saved him last night. From his fears, from his heartache…and ultimately from himself. She didn’t even intend to do it, and yet she succeeded. She saved him.

He might have been the one holding her throughout the night in an effort to save her from her nighttime demons, but in the end, it was Charlie who saved _him_.

And now he can’t stop smiling as his eyes slowly worship her sleeping form. He lazily trails an index finger down the length of her bare arm and watches, mesmerized, as tiny goose bumps appear on her skin. She doesn’t stir, though. And for once, she looks like she’s lost in a _good_ dream.

Bass can’t help but remember those blissful mornings he spent with Charlie when he was sedated – how breathtaking and relaxed she always looked and how perfectly she fit in his arms. And now he has her. In the safety of his arms for real. Here, she looks even more beautiful, and he adores the way she feels in his embrace. He is certain he never wants to let go.

 _She saved him_. That phrase replays itself in Bass’s mind like a clear, chiming church bell. She saved him.

His breath hitches in his throat and his morning musings dissipate immediately when Charlie’s devastatingly blue eyes flutter open and instantly seek out his. He hesitates for half a second, not at all sure of what her next reaction will be.

Last night, in her terror, she couldn’t handle being away from him. But now that it’s morning, what will be her response? Will she pull away as her cognizance grows? Will she succumb to feelings of fear or frustration or hatred or even embarrassment?

Her reaction catches him off guard. She just…watches him. With her head now titled up, her chin resting against his chest, she comfortably watches him through still-sleepy eyes.

There’s a certain childlike expectancy in her deep blue orbs as they bore into him that causes a swift stirring in Bass’s gut.

He wants to kiss her. Oh, god, he wants to kiss her so badly.

And then, as if she just read his mind, she goes and does exactly that: she kisses him.

It’s different than the kiss they shared in the tavern last night – if that should even count as a kiss. This one isn’t fueled by jealousy or anger or some twisted, hidden agenda. This time, she casually lifts up her head from his chest just enough to touch his bearded jawline with her soft, warm lips. It’s an innocent, tender kiss that doesn’t even make it to his lips, but it screams of longing and possibility and contentment. And sincerity. Like she meant it from the depths of her soul.

Bass watches in silent amazement as Charlie sighs and lays her head back onto his chest, nuzzling her cheek against the thin, worn fabric of his t-shirt. He doesn’t stop her when she reaches for his hand and interlocks her fingers with his.    

Bass waits. He can tell her mind is churning (as is his), and he decides to let her be the first to calculate her thoughts into words.

“Thank you,” she finally rasps out without looking at him. “Thank you for not leaving me.”

His stomach does a somersault, and he suddenly feels warm from his head all the way down to his toes. He takes her face in his hands and maneuvers her into a position that allows her eyes to meet his.

“No, Charlotte,” he corrects her, his voice gentle but rough with misuse. “Thank _you_.”

“For what?” Her soft expression is curious and expectant.

Bass traces his thumb against the softness of her cheek and gets lost in her sky-colored eyes. His own eyes glisten with freshly formed tears that somehow don’t fall.

“For saving me,” he finishes in a whisper.

Charlie looks surprised and a little confused as she takes in his words, but before she can say anything in response, Bass rolls them over till she is on her back and he is hovering over her.

Without another word, he brings his lips down to meet hers, closing the space between them.

 

***

 

Charlie moans immediately. She can’t help herself. The kiss is sweet and tentative, but the simple sensation of Bass’s lips touching hers instantly ignites a fire deep within her belly. She wants him. Badly. She has wanted him for a long time, in fact…far longer than she cares to admit.

His lips are firm but gentle, and his beard is scratchy but soft against her skin; it lightly tickles her face, and she instantly loves the sensation it creates in her.

Her every nerve burns; every sense is heightened as Bass continues his slow and deliberate exploration of her mouth. She ever so slightly parts her lips and feels a warm tingle pass through her when he slides his tongue into the space her lips have created.

He’s seeking permission. And she easily grants it to him. When she parts her lips a little more, his tongue is right there, ready to explore the depths of her warm mouth. She allows it and in fact urges him on by threading her fingers into his curls and pulling him down, closer to herself. He responds by encircling his strong arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head and pulling her closer still, the other kneading the skin of her back where her tank top has ridden up.

Another moan escapes her when Bass methodically sucks on her lips. He focuses first on the top one, then moves to the bottom one, with little licks and gentle bites along the way.

The man definitely knows how to kiss. Then again, that’s the difference. Charlie has kissed her fair share of guys before. Or rather…she has kissed her fair share of _boys_. Today, she is kissing a _man_.

A very well-endowed man, she notes, as she becomes aware of the unmistakable bulge that strains against the front of his pants and teases her through their layers of clothing. 

He groans into Charlie’s mouth, clearly satisfied, when she slowly trails a timid hand down to stroke him over his jeans. It causes him to intensify their kiss, and Charlie fully welcomes it.

Finally, he pulls his lips away from her and stares down at her. His blue eyes are darker, pupils dilated, lustful desire emitting from his irises. His face is hard and determined, lips parted, though just barely, as he takes several slow, shallow breaths.

Charlie shivers and swallows. She realizes in that moment that she’s looking directly into the eyes of General Sebastian Monroe. His expression is eerily reminiscent of the one he wore the first time she met him – that god-awful night in Philadelphia when she stood up against Strausser’s gun and offered up her life in place of her brother’s.

That moment, those steely blue eyes and that perversely faint smile of his, have haunted her dreams night after night for months. Even as recently as last night when she, ironically, reached out to the very same man for protection and comfort. But now, in her fully awakened state, she’s suddenly not afraid. His predatory stare has sparked something new in her. Something different. If anything, she’s deeply turned on. Her center is hot and soaked and throbbing, and she finds herself unable to look away from his unwavering gaze. All she wants now is to drown in those pools of blue while he takes her. Every part of her.  

Her heart trembles as the realization hits her.

How did this happen? How did they end up here? When and how the hell did she start wanting Monroe?

They silently converse with their eyes for a little while longer before Bass leans down and kisses her once more. Then his lips leave hers, and he begins peppering her neck with several wet kisses. Her hands find their way back to his hair, and she hums in delight when he sucks on her pulse point.

She pulls his face back up to allow the reconnecting of their lips. He playfully obliges, but then eventually leaves her mouth again and works his way down. He kisses her chin, then all along her neck, then her collarbone. Then he moves down to her chest, which heaves in anticipation.

Charlie closes her eyes when she feels the soft scratching of his beard against the valley of her breasts. She decides she really, really likes his beard.

His warm breath teases her skin, and her heart threatens to beat right out of her chest when his left hand comes up from behind her back and gives her right breast a firm but loving squeeze over her clothing.

She suddenly hates that she’s still wearing clothes. She hates even more that he’s wearing clothes. But Bass seems to be one step ahead of her; either that, or he’s reading her mind, which she’s always been convinced he can do. Whatever the case, he easily pulls off her tank top and then goes in and removes her bra. She expects him to dive in on her naked breasts, but first, he whips off his own t-shirt, revealing hot, tanned skin that’s gloved around a perfectly chiseled torso. She’s seen him like this before – back in New Vegas. But she decides it’s a million times better when he’s up close and within her reach.

Charlie licks her lips and drinks in the sight before her. God, he’s beautiful. She desperately wants to touch him.

So she does. She drags one hand down his sculpted chest, her fingernails lightly catching on one of his nipples, causing him to moan softly.

Meanwhile, his hand finds her breasts. His calloused fingers begin to work her mounds, one at a time, like her flesh is clay and he, a skillful sculptor. He rolls his thumbs and forefingers over each of her nipples, pinching and twisting, till they both stand erect.  

Charlie exhales a ragged breath when he lowers his wet, hot mouth to her perky globes. Her fingers instantly thread into his hair and she arches up, allowing him to have more of her in his mouth. He takes his precious time and adores her body in a way that no one else has ever done before. She’s only used to a quick fuck here and there. But Bass is in no hurry at all. This isn’t a quick fuck. This is something different. Charlie realizes that with Monroe lately, it’s always something different.

Her eyes fight to stay open so she can watch him as he sucks and bites and expertly flickers his tongue against her hardened nipples. He alternates from one to the other. When his mouth is absent from one breast, his hand is there, doing equally wonderful things to that side. Then he switches and goes back to the other one. The fire within Charlie rages on.

“Mmm…I need you,” Charlie pants as Bass’s lips trail southward, toward her smooth, flat belly. She feels him smile against her stomach before reaching for her belt buckle.

He undoes her belt, then unsnaps and unzips her jeans. She helps by eagerly lifting her ass off the mattress, and Bass wastes no time in sliding off her pants.

Charlie shudders as the cool air touches her damp, newly-exposed skin. Her center is swollen and throbbing, and her heart continues to pound. She watches as Bass spreads her legs and licks his lips, hungrily taking in the view before him. His fingers gently massage her thighs, and she squirms. Her pussy is drenched and ready, and she wants him to hurry up and touch her, but he’s taking all his damned time.

Charlie’s impatience gets the best of her. She reaches down to touch herself.

Bass stops her. He stares at her, silently reprimanding her.

She frowns at him. She needs him. Now. Again, she tries to slip her fingers between her wet folds, but he pushes her hand away.

“That’s my job,” he growls.

Fuck. The low, gravely timber of his voice sends shockwaves through her body.

“Then hurry up and _do_ your job!” She whines. “I can’t wait, I need you now, Bass.”

He smirks deviously at her. “Since when am I _Bass_ to you?”

A throaty groan leaves Charlie’s lips. She doesn’t have time for his shit. She reaches for him and pulls him down by his shoulders. Then she rolls them both over till he is on his back and begins to make quick work of his jeans.

“Wow, Charlotte,” he chuckles and amusedly watches her as she works. He sucks in a sharp breath when her eager fingers reach inside and free his hardened cock.

She helps him out of his jeans and tosses them to the floor. Finally, they are both completely naked.

Charlie quietly gasps as she gets her first full view of all that is Bass Monroe. She always suspected he was big, but his magnificent size still manages to surprise her. It also makes her a little nervous. He’s fully erect and just as ready as she is, and she wonders if she can handle all of him.

Her eyes find his again, and she feels a shiver shoot down her spine and straight into her center when she sees the heated desire present in his blue eyes. It’s like looking in a mirror. She’s certain the same desire burns in her eyes as well.

“Come here,” he tells her.

She obeys.

She straddles his lower abdomen and leans down to kiss him. Their mouths are much hungrier and much more aggressive this time, their tender touching evolving into hasty and hot touches that are filled with need.

Bass digs his fingers into her ass cheeks while she grinds her clit against his pelvis, wetting his firm flesh with her drenched desire. Her nipples scrape against his chest while her ass teasingly rubs along his dick. He groans in pleasure and rolls his hips toward her.

Charlie giggles when he suddenly flips them over so she’s on her back again. Her face is flushed as she stares into his face. Her entire body thrums with longing – a longing they both know only he can satisfy.

He takes his engorged cock in his hand and slowly rubs her glistening slit with the head. Up and down, up and down, teasing her opening but not going inside.

“Please….” Charlie whimpers.

“Please what?” His voice is resolute, commanding. “I want to hear you say it.”

Fuck. He’s looking at her like General Monroe again, and it’s making her want to combust. “Please, Bass,” she begs. “Take me. Make me yours.”

She moans loudly when he finally does what she’s been begging for all morning, and the feeling is unlike anything she’s ever experienced. He takes his time, slowly pushing into her, allowing her body to stretch and adjust to his girth. He’s huge and he fills her up completely.

“God, you’re so tight,” he whispers, his features displaying his obvious satisfaction.

He pulls out until just the tip of him remains and then thrusts back into her slick heat, much harder and much faster this time. Charlie hisses as he consumes her. She rolls her hips until together, they find a harmonious rhythm.     

“Open your eyes, Charlotte,” Bass orders.

She didn’t even realize she’d closed them in the first place, but she immediately does as she’s told. She quivers under his animalistic gaze. God, his eyes are so beautiful.

Bass begins to move faster, leading their pace, his every thrust becoming more and more urgent. He leans down and kisses her, sucking on her bottom lip.

Charlie mewls into his mouth and her hips jump off the bed when he reaches down and starts rubbing her clit with his thumb. She wraps her arms around his back, digging her blunt fingernails into his now-sweaty skin. His muscles instantly spasm beneath her touch, and it seems to urge him on. He kisses her harder and continues to increase their speed in response.

“Shit,” she mutters against his lips when he grabs her left leg, which was previously hooked around his hip, and throws it over his shoulder.

He grunts and breaks their kiss and begins to plow into her from this new angle. He’s glaring at her with deep concentration while his thumb once again rolls over her most sensitive knot of nerves. At that moment, Charlie falls apart.

“Fuck!” She screams as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave. She whimpers and hisses and bucks her hips as her inner walls fiercely contract around Bass’s throbbing cock.

It’s enough to push him over the edge as well. Charlie feels him quaking deep inside of her, ready to explode.

“No, don’t! Please!” She quickly wraps her legs around his waist when he attempts to pull out.

“But—” he begins to protest. His face looks both surprised and concerned.

“Please,” she cuts him off and squeezes her thighs tight against his hips, keeping him in place, not giving him any other choice but to stay.

She’s never begged anyone for this before, and she realizes the risks involved, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t want it any other way. She needs him. All of him. She needs him to claim her as his own.

He loses control and comes inside of her, his hot, thick load emptying into her velvety depths. She welcomes every drop of him, milking him dry with the last leg of her own orgasm.

Finally, Bass collapses on top of her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. He’s panting hard, and so is she. Both are sweaty and sated.

Charlie can feel his heart beating wildly against hers, and it causes her stomach to flutter in approval. Her legs remain securely fastened around him, and he stays inside of her as they both take a moment to recuperate.

A comfortable silence settles all around them as they lie there, entangled in the crumpled sheets. Charlie absently toys with the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck. He holds her close and kisses the skin below her earlobe.

“Next time, you have to let me pull out,” he mumbles.

Her heart skips a beat. She pulls his face up to look at him. “Next time?”

He snickers. “Well, yeah, damn it. Unless…you know, you don’t wanna….”

“I wanna,” she answers almost too eagerly, causing him to snicker again.

He leans down and kisses her forehead. “Good. Me, too.”

“You wanna…now?” She coyly bites her bottom lip.

“ _God_ , Charlie,” he groans. “I need a second to recover. Not all of us are twenty-two and insatiable.”

She smirks mischievously. “Oh, that’s right. Sometimes I forget. You’re old.”

“I’m what?” His jaw clenches and he glowers down at her in that deliciously terrifying way that she’s come to love so much. She feels another shiver of anticipation crawl down her spine.

He thrusts his dick, which is still buried inside of her, and she feels it twitch beneath her skin.

“No,” she moans in disappointment when he pulls out of her. She never knew she could feel so empty until he’s not there anymore. “I was just kidding. You’re not old. You’re perfect.”

He doesn’t say anything and instead creates more distance between them.

“Come back,” she whines, not caring in the least that she sounds desperate and needy. But then she realizes he has something else in mind.

She props her weight onto her elbows and watches with wide, excited eyes as he stares her down and slithers down her body, his lips trailing warm kisses all along the way.

He stops just above her moist center and parts her legs, his eyes never leaving hers. She shivers yet again, wondering if it’s possible to have an orgasm just from sheer eye contact; he’s fucking her with his eyes, and the feeling is almost too much for her to bear. She feels her juices, mixed with the remnants of his, seep right out of her as she gazes back at him.

No one’s ever done to her what he’s about to do. Her skin crawls with heated expectancy as she eagerly waits for him to close the distance between them.

She breathes out a shaky breath when his rough fingers reach out and part her skin, exposing her pink bundle of nerves.

“Fuck!" She shrieks, her mind going blank, when he drags his tongue from the bottom of her soaking slit to her clit.

Her elbows buckle underneath her, and her back lands against the mattress with a soft thump. She squirms and moans and toys with his hair while his tongue paints her pussy like a brush on a canvas.

Charlie yanks at his hair when he pushes his index finger into her slickness. While his tongue continues its fervent flicking, he adds a second finger to the mix.

She’s certain she’s going to lose it when he begins to fuck her with his fingers, in and out, in and out, all the while, never removing his tongue from her clit. He licks and laps and occasionally bites down on her with just the perfect amount of pressure and never more.

“Ohhh, right there….” She approves, pulling at his hair, when he tilts his head just a little to create a different angle for his tongue. His beard rubs her delicately, and she feels him smile against her.

Just a few more licks from his generously languid tongue, and she breaks, the heat of her center jolting like electricity to every other part of her body. She slams her eyes shut, thrashes her head back, and writhes in ecstasy as her orgasm violently rocks through every inch of her.

“Stop! Stop!” She finally winces, anxiously pushing him away from her oversensitive sex.

He chuckles quietly and removes his lips and fingers from her soaking, hot skin.

Charlie opens her eyes and thinks she’s going to die when he sits up and slowly licks her juices off of his fingers. His beard glistens with her wetness, and his eyes radiate in prideful triumph. He’s clearly very happy with his recent accomplishment. And he should be. He was amazing.

Her eyes struggle to stay open as she reaches for him. She’s exhausted, but in the best possible way. She wants him to hold her so she can drift back to sleep. 

As usual, he seems to know exactly what she’s thinking. Before she can even utter her request, he settles in next to her, his naked body spooning hers from behind. He protectively wraps his arms around her, much like he did last night.

“You good?” He whispers into her ear, his warm breath tickling her.

She just nods. She can’t even bring herself to speak, she’s so spent. She snuggles in close, and cranes her neck toward him, seeking out his lips.

He kisses her gently, first on the lips, and then on her cheek, before settling the side of his face against hers. He pulls her to himself to get even closer still, until his perfect form envelops her completely.

“Sleep, Charlotte,” he says.

And she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be kind and leave a review!


	11. You and Me (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with the Charloe conversation in this chapter, but I think in the end, it accomplished what I set out to accomplish, and I'm tired of trying to revise it, so...there ya go. Lol. As I've said before, this story has taken on a life of its own, and I have no freaking idea when it will end. I still have a few things I want to explore, so it may take a while before we reach the conclusion. Thanks for sticking with me so far!! You guys are the best. :D

They both sleep.

Bass himself falls into a deep, undisturbed slumber for what feels like hours. Truthfully, he’s not sure how long he actually sleeps, but at any rate, he’s grateful to finally get some much-needed rest. He hasn’t slept that well in what feels like an eternity.

Then he hears a voice calling his name and feels a hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of his sleep.

“Bass…Bass! Wake up.”

He suddenly jolts awake, his senses instantly heightened into defense mode. He stares back at Charlie with a look of deep concern, realizing that the voice and hand were both hers.

“What’s wrong?” He questions, his heart racing.

She’s leaning over him, still naked, her long, rumpled hair dangling in front of her face and brushing across his bare chest. “Nothing, I just….”

He furrows his brows and pushes her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears. She doesn’t look like she’s in trouble or anything, but then again, he’s not sure. He wonders if maybe she had another nightmare.

“What is it, Charlie?”

She sheepishly bites her bottom lip. “I…um…need you.”

‘ _Oh._ ’

He laughs as a warm wave of relief quickly spreads through him. “You serious? That’s why you woke me up?”

She nods and continues to gnaw on her bottom lip, and Bass notices the crimson blush that now colors her cheeks. Her eyes dart around, not meeting his, and she suddenly looks girlishly shy, which is an extremely unusual emotion for Charlotte Matheson. The only word that Bass can think to describe her in her current state is _adorable_.

His dick hardens.

Damn.

The girl has him eating out of her palm without even trying. He leans up and kisses her, enjoying the way she moans and instantly melts against his mouth.

That simple kiss quickly turns into much, much more, and before long, they are rolling around the old bed, tangled in the sheets, kissing, sucking, biting, relentlessly groping every inch of one another like there’s absolutely no tomorrow.

Bass learns quickly that Charlie has quite the sexual appetite – or maybe she just has an insatiable appetite for him. Whichever the case, he is more than happy to help her fulfill her needs. He enjoys learning every inch of her body and in turn teaching her all about his. She is a quick learner and figures out right away how to satisfy every one of Bass’s needs.

They are on their third round, and he groans in pleasure when she mounts him like a horse and lowers her hot, dripping heat onto his fully erect cock. She slides her hands up and down his torso, setting his flesh on fire, while rolling her hips against him in a beautifully fluid rhythm. He grabs her hips and thrusts up into her again and again, meeting her every move and reveling in the feelings created by their connected bodies. She fits him like a custom glove, like she was made specifically for him and he for her. Of all the women he’s ever been with (and he’s been with many), none have ever felt as amazing or as perfect as Charlie. He’ll be entirely content – more than content, he decides – if he never has to touch another woman again…as long as he gets the pleasure of touching Charlie and only Charlie over and over again.

She takes his hand and guides it to her engorged clit. He doesn’t miss a beat and begins to stroke her with dexterous attention, adoring the way her little nub feels beneath his thumb.

“Mm…yeah, like that,” she sighs, letting go of his hand.

He has to remind himself to breathe as he reverently watches her naked form. She reaches up and piles her hair on top of her head, a few sweaty strays remaining behind but ultimately displaying her long neck and shapely shoulders. Her body is perfect – curvy yet slender and toned all at once. Her youthful, firm breasts are also on full display, and they bounce up and down as she continues to ride him.

His sheathed cock pulsates inside Charlie’s sex, and he feels himself getting close. He rubs her clit harder and faster, determined to make her come first, and observes in awe as she throws her head back and shatters almost instantaneously. Before her contractions have a chance to conclude, he rolls them over and pushes deep into her, slamming into her cervix, before pulling out at the last possible second and spilling himself all over her thigh. He then collapses beside her, drenched in sweat and deeply satiated.

“I could do that all day,” Charlie pants, satisfaction clear in her tone.

Bass turns and chuckles at her. “Uh…in case you didn’t notice, Charlotte, we _literally_ just did… _all_ day.”

She looks radiant, glowing in the aftermath of their activities, as she smiles back at him. “Are you complaining?”

“Fuck no,” he laughs. He leans over and kisses her. “Definitely not complaining.”

“Good.” She grins and takes his hand, interlocking her fingers with his while he settles down next to her again.

Bass watches her contentedly for quite some time. Her beauty never fails to amaze him. And tonight, under the light of the setting sun as it streams through their motel window, her skin flushed and her hair a mess, Charlie looks absolutely spectacular. He could stare at her all day, all night, for the rest of time.

After a moment, he notices how her smile fades a bit and her expression becomes comfortably pensive. Then, another moment later, she looks a little sad.

Bass frowns. He wonders what she’s thinking.

“I don’t want this to end,” she eventually whispers, staring up at the ceiling. Her fingers gently play with his.

He continues to gaze at her in silence, his heart feeling tight and achy as the seconds silently pass. Then finally he asks, “What if it doesn’t have to?”  

Her eyes leave the ceiling and turn to him. She looks hesitant. “But…it will.”

His heart drops. He pulls his hand away from hers.

Suddenly, his mind swarms with all kinds of horrible thoughts. He feels a surge of anger and self-loathing well up inside of him. He sits up, turns away from her, and moves to the edge of the bed.

He should have known better. How could he have been so stupid? She is a Matheson, after all. How many times has a Matheson broken his heart and then handed back the damaged pieces?

Then again, he’s probably the one to blame. How could he even think she wanted more than just sex? From the likes of him, anyway? How could he let himself believe, even for a second, that she wanted this to be more?

 _‘This isn’t your fucking drug dream,’_ he reminds himself. _‘This is reality.’_  

Now she’s sitting up, too, and reaching for his shoulder. “Bass…wait, that’s not—”

He roughly recoils from her touch and pushes his fingers through his unruly hair. He refuses to look at her. “I don’t have time for this. Okay, Charlie? I should’ve known you just wanted a fuck buddy—”

“Everyone leaves me,” she interjects, choking on tears.

She crawls over to him and wraps her arms around him for behind, her chest pressing into his back. She hooks her chin over his shoulder and holds him tight.

He doesn’t stop her; nor does he pull away.

“As soon as I admit that I care about someone… _anyone_ …life has this cruel way of ripping them away from me. I lose everyone.”

Bass’s heart breaks. For entirely different reasons this time. He exhales a deep breath and relaxes into her embrace. Shit. It’s like he’s hearing his own words come out of her mouth.

She continues. “So I just meant that…you’re too important to me. And I’m scared. I can’t lose you, too. I can’t lose this.”  

He turns around and cups her cheeks in his hands. He uses the pad of his thumb to brush away the tears that have fallen and stares long and hard into her perfectly blue eyes, realizing for the first time just how similar they both are – both damaged and hardened by life, both afraid of so much.

“Charlotte, why do you even want me?”

She reaches up and takes his face in her hands, mirroring his actions. “Because…you get me. You’re the only one who really does. I’ve felt alone for a long time, Bass. I’m tired of it.”

A faint, sad smile forms on his lips as he listens to her admission.

Charlie’s eyes drop down to his chest. “I mean, Miles is great. Really. I know he cares about me. But he and my mom….”

Bass takes her chin and lifts her face so their eyes meet again. He stays quiet, letting her say whatever she needs to say.

She swallows, her face uncertain. “I guess I’m just tired of being an afterthought. You know? And when I’m with you, I never feel like one.”

His heart swells. “You’re not a damned afterthought, Charlotte. Not to me.”

She smiles, though her expression is still sad. “I know. And that’s why I’m scared. I just…I can’t lose you.”

He leans in and kisses her on the forehead. Then he pulls back and stares at her with vigor and promise in his eyes. “Charlie, I swear…I’ll never leave you. If it’s up to me, I’ll never let you feel alone again.”

She gently strokes the sides of his face, still seeming unsure. “But how can you say that? I mean, none of us know what our tomorrow will look like. For all we know, we could walk out of this room and get blown to bits, or—”

“Stop.” He places a finger on her lips to silence her.

He watches her for a while, seeing the same uncertainty, fear, and insecurity that have tormented him for years mirrored in her eyes. They really are the same.

He tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Look, you’re right. The world we live in is dangerous and fucked up. We can’t count on anything – not even on life itself. But we have to find a reason to go on, to keep fighting.”

“What are we fighting for?” She asks, her voice and countenance both utterly vulnerable.

He lets go of her face and moves to sit against the headboard. Then he pulls her toward himself, till she settles in next to him. He takes her hand in his. “I want to tell you something.”

Bass exhales. It’s been a long time since he’s bore his soul to another person. But he knows he needs to do this. If he wants to give himself and Charlie a fighting chance, she has the right to know.

“Last night, I walked and walked until I ended up in some shithole bar in the next town over,” he begins. “There was this guy there. Drunk. Really chatty. Tells me his godson died.”

Charlie squeezes his hand gently, wordlessly encouraging him to go on.

“Turns out…” Bass’s words fade for a moment, and he feels the sting of tears forming in his eyes. He breathes them back before they can fall. “Turns out, his godson was….”

“Oh, Bass….” Dread and heartache are clear in her voice. “Connor?”

He nods.

“Oh my God…Bass….” She leaves his side and quickly straddles his lap, taking his face in her palms and peering deep into his eyes. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

He nods again, still fighting back his tears. “I wanted to end it. Everything. Right there and then. But I didn’t have my gun with me.”

“So you came back to the room….” Charlie shivers, putting the pieces together.  

“I figured you were asleep, so I was going to slip in here, take my gun, and just be done with it. With life.”

“What stopped you?” She looks curious but also scared.

He touches her cheek. “You. You stopped me. _You_ saved me.”

Charlie’s tear-filled eyes light up with realization this time. She doesn’t respond but Bass can tell she’s soaking up his words.

“And this isn’t the first time I’ve lost someone,” he continues.

“Miles?” She asks, almost timidly.

He shakes his head. “I mean…yeah, Miles. I guess. But I’ve lost so many other people, Charlie. Basically everyone. Life has always ripped everyone I care about from me, too.”

A tear rolls down his cheek as the names of his lost loved ones scroll across his mind. He’s not ready to tell her all those stories, at least not yet, but he knows without a doubt that she understands even without the specifics. She’s the only one who actually understands. Because she’s just as broken as he is.

“I have a lot of baggage, Charlotte. Lots of demons I still need to fight.”

“But you will,” she tells him. “You’ll fight them. And I’m going to help you.”

Her promising words are like a cool balm on a festering wound. For the first time in a long time, he feels like he can breathe – really breathe. He leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

“I know it’s a totally clichéd thing to say, but…I feel your pain,” she says. “I really do. I mean, probably not all of it. But a lot of it. I might be young or whatever, but God knows…I have my share of baggage, too. My own demons. And I’ve dealt with loss that I didn’t think I could ever recover from. That I’m _still_ recovering from….”

He opens his eyes and stares into hers. He suddenly feels consumed by an overwhelming sense of guilt. The loss she’s speaking of is his fault. _He_ did this to her.

“Charlotte,” he barely manages to get her name out. “I’m sorry…about your dad, about Danny…and….”

She shakes her head. “I know you are. I’m not saying any of this to make you feel guilty. I’ve already forgiven you…or the Republic…or whatever, for all that. I’m just telling you to make you realize that I understand that kind of loss.”   

His heart feels like it’s about to burst, but this time, the feeling is due to gratitude and relief.

And love. He loves her. He knows it now.

Before he can say anything more, Charlie leans in and captures his lips with hers. She tastes salty from her tears, but her lips are warm and reassuring. Then she pulls back and stares confidently into his eyes. “Whatever happens from here on out, we’re in this together. Okay? You and me.”

“You and me,” he repeats in agreement. He can’t remember the last time he felt this connected to another soul.

She smiles and leans her forehead back against his. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“For what?”

She lifts her head and smiles warmly at him. “For not giving up last night. For giving me a reason to keep fighting…for giving _us_ a reason to keep fighting.”

He lets her words wash over him and is unable to contain his own smile. Suddenly, he knows. Everything with somehow be okay. As long as he has Charlotte, everything will be fine.

He nods and presses his lips to hers. By the time he pulls back, Charlie is grinning.

He narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing, just…what happens next?”

He sighs. “We go back to fucking Texas, I guess.”

“Miles will probably try to castrate you. You know that right? And my mom will probably try to kill you.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, why exactly are you smiling?”

“Because.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “We both know they won’t succeed. I won’t let them.”

Bass combs his fingers through her hair. “Then let’s just stay here. Wait, no, Mexico blows. Let’s just run away together.”

“That’s _very_ tempting…but…you know we can’t really do that.” Charlie wiggles on his lap and entwines her fingers at the back of his neck.

Her teasing movement causes him to groan. “Oh my god, woman. Are you seriously ready for another round?”

She giggles and blushes. “Maybe.”

He snorts. Forget Miles or Rachel. Charlie Matheson will be the death of him. “Okay, but first I need to find some fucking food. I’m starving. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not.”

She tilts her head and thinks about it for a second. “Hmm…yeah, I guess I could eat.”

“Good,” Bass chuckles and pushes her off of him. “Now get dressed. And when we get back, I’m gonna fuck you senseless again.”

“Yes, please!” She winks at him but finally gets off the bed and reaches for her clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think my characters are turning out to be a little softer and more playful than the versions on the show, but I sort of feel like that would have been the case if Charloe had actually gotten together. And, well, if that's not really what would have happened...eh, this is my fic. I'll do what I want. Lol. I just hope these characters don't feel too OOC. 
> 
> ETA: I should add that I read a similar line about Bass or Charlie being an 'afterthought' to everyone in another fic. I can't remember which one! But anyway, that idea should be credited to the original fic writer, not me. I basically just borrowed it. If anyone knows who wrote that (similar) line originally, let me know and I'll give them proper credit, haha. I'm sorry...my memory really sucks!
> 
> Please be kind and leave a review! This is another one of those slightly iffy chapters for me, so hearing ya'llz thoughts on it would be superb! Thanks!


	12. Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you saw the last update (chapter 11); it didn't get many reviews, but I was also having some issues with AO3 the night that I posted it. ANYWAY, if you did and just didn't review...well, not much I can do about it, lol. But if you did actually miss it somehow, please go back and check it out (and leave a review)! I consider it the turning point chapter, so yeah...reviews would be awesome. :) And without further ado, here's chapter 12.

A dismal sigh leaves Miles’s lips as he stares out at the Patriots through a pair of old binoculars. He watches from a distant, shrub-covered cliff as dozens upon dozens of kaki uniformed douchebags move around inside a heavily-guarded, fenced-in area: the Patriots’ new quarantine camp, which they’ve set up just outside the west edge of Willoughby due to some supposed typhus outbreak.

Gene and Rachel are both down there, offering their assistance to the sick while secretly attempting to figure out if there’s really more going on than the Patriots are letting on. So while father and daughter Porter tend to the ill and execute their undisclosed investigation, Miles is stuck by himself, hiding from that dipshit, Truman, and waiting for further word from Rachel in case she or Gene need him for something.

He’s uncomfortable and bored out of his skull, and he really misses Charlie. Actually, he misses Bass, too (though he’ll never tell Rachel or Gene that).

It’s been over a week since he’s seen the two of them, which perhaps should worry him, since they were supposed to be back from Mexico by now, but he’s had so much else on his plate lately, that he’s had neither the time nor the mental energy to worry about his niece or his deranged friend.

Then again, this is Bass and Charlie. If Miles were a betting man and had to put his money on anyone, it would undoubtedly be on those two. In fact, as much as Miles hates to admit it, he’s come to terms with the fact that Bass and Charlie make a pretty good team (again, he’ll never tell Rachel or Gene that).

And if there’s anyone who can handle Bass’s hysteria, it’s Charlie. The girl is fearless and, in true Matheson fashion, has no time for anyone’s bullshit. She can deal with just about anything or anyone – even the former president of the goddamned Monroe Republic.

They’re fine, Miles decides. He’ll see them soon, and then everything will go back to being normal. He refuses to believe anything else.

Now if only the two idiots would hurry the hell up and come back to Willoughby. If Miles seriously has to go up against these Patriot sons of bitches, he needs his two best sidekicks back with him.

 

\- - -

 

How quickly things can change.

Yesterday, Charlie couldn’t stop smiling. Yesterday, she felt like she was finally living. _Truly_ living. For the first time in years.

 _He_ made her feel that way.

But now they’re almost home, and the closer they get, the more she feels her happiness being sucked right out of her; in its place is a racing heart and a nervous knot in the pit of her stomach.

They pass the old, battered road sign that informs them that they’re just ten miles away from Willoughby, and it’s like déjà vu all over again. She glances over at Bass, who is silently driving the wagon they obtained (or stole, rather) at some point during their return journey. He hasn’t said a word for the past several miles, and his tightened jaw and brooding expression both confirm that he’s just about as nervous as Charlie is.

She reaches for his hand.

He quietly sighs as their hands touch and turns his gaze to her. He looks exhausted but manages a smile. Then he gently squeezes her fingers, his simple, silent action promising her that everything will somehow be okay.

She’s still not completely convinced, but she trusts him. In fact, he might be the only one she genuinely trusts anymore.

How quickly – and vastly – things change, indeed.

 

\- - -

 

Bass feels the bile rising in his throat when he spots Rachel. She stands just outside the storm cellar entrance and lights up like a pre-blackout bulb when she sees the wagon approach. Of course, her eyes are only on Charlie. Rachel clearly doesn’t give a rat’s ass about him…not that he wants her to. But Bass is tired. He’s tired of the way the Mathesons (meaning Miles and Rachel) usually treat him – like he’s invisible until they suddenly need him.

Rachel is at the side of the wagon, grabbing for Charlie, before Bass can even pull it to a complete stop. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you?” She demands.

Bass grits his teeth and watches Rachel’s overly theatrical, conniving display of concern for her daughter as she pulls Charlie down and throws her arms around her. God, Rachel is such a bitch. What the fuck does Miles see in her? Seriously.

“I’m fine, Mom.” Charlie’s response is cold and laced with fatigue.

Bass groans under his breath and continues to watch as the older, crazier blonde drags the younger, saner one toward the storm cellar.

Just then, Miles approaches. “Well…looks like you both made it back in one piece. Welcome back.”

Bass swipes a hand over his bristly face. “Yeah. What’d we miss?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. The Patriots are still a royal pain in my ass. They’ve started a quarantine camp on the other side of town and are chemically engineering and passing typhus to the locals,” Miles explains in his typical, overly blasé tone. “Oh, and Truman still wants my head on a stick. So…that’s been fun.”

Bass shakes his head. He suddenly misses Mexico. Well, maybe not Mexico, but he definitely misses Charlie and the freedom they shared together while they were away. 

“So, how’d it go south of the border?” Miles asks – _far_ too nonchalantly.

Bass stares at him for a minute. Is he really serious? Not even an ounce of concern?

“How’d it go?” He incredulously repeats his oldest friend’s question. “How’d it _go_? You wanna know how it went, Miles?”

Miles raises his eyebrows and holds up his hands. “Hey…I’m just asking….”

Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s just been traveling for days on the most uncomfortable wagon ever built or the fact that Charlie’s been dragged off by Rachel, but Bass is absolutely beyond done.

He jumps down from the wagon and immediately throws a punch into his friend’s face. His fist successfully lands against the bridge of Miles’s nose, and blood instantly rushes out.

“What the hell!” Miles wails in pain while staggering backwards for a moment. He furiously shakes his head and blinks hard in an attempt to regain his vision.

Bass doesn’t reply. He just steps back and swings, ready to throw another blow, but then Rachel is there.

“Miles!” She screams, now standing between the two men. She glowers hard at Bass, all of her years of hatred toward him evident in that one fiery scowl. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“ _You_ ….” Bass uses every ounce of self-control to not hit Rachel instead. He is so done with her shit. “Stay out of this, you stupid, hypocritical bitch!”

“Alright, okay. That’s enough, Bass!” Miles reproaches, wiping at the red that’s still gushing out of his nose.

Bass’s blood pressure is on the fritz. He is literally shaking with fury. “You wanna know how it went in Mexico, Miles? You _really_ wanna know?”

Miles holds the back of his hand up to his nose in a poor attempt to stop his bleeding. He doesn’t answer Bass’s question.

“You drag my son down to fucking Mexico, Miles. You dump him there. For God knows how long! And then you stand here and ask me about him like it’s a discussion on the fucking weather or the stock exchange? I know you don’t give a fuck, but can’t you at least have the decency to act like you care?” Angry tears cloud Bass’s furious gaze.

Miles has hurt him a lot in the past, but this might be the lowest point their friendship has ever reached. Bass’s heart stings as he stares at the man he once considered his brother.

“I hardly think you’re one to be giving lectures on decency, Bass,” Rachel slanders.

That sets Bass off even more, and he’s in her face within seconds. He doesn’t even care that Miles is watching. He doesn’t even care that she is Charlie’s mother. He just doesn’t care anymore. He’ll kill Rachel Matheson right then and there – choke her, if he has to – if that’s what it takes to silence her condescension.

“Hey! Bass…stop. Please stop!”

But then he feels Charlie’s hand grabbing his arm, pulling him back. She must have come back up from the storm cellar after hearing all of the commotion.

Bass swallows harshly and immediately backs away. He turns and looks at Charlie with dread and frustration in his face.

She looks disappointed. But more than that, she looks worried.

She holds his gaze for a few seconds, her face softening, and the majestic blue of her eyes somehow manages to calm him down.

He exhales slowly, making every effort to recompose himself.

Then he notices the sudden, ferocious shift in Charlie’s features. He watches in silence as she turns to look at her mother and uncle.

“Connor’s dead,” she bitterly announces. 

Neither Rachel nor Miles utter a word. Guilt at least consumes Miles’s face, but Rachel looks as if the words have gone right through her.

Bass’s heart and mind both feel constrained. He can’t stand the sight of Rachel or Miles for another second. He needs to get away from them.

His eyes seek out Charlie’s. Without the utterance of a single word, his gaze tells her everything she needs to know: _he’s going for a walk – quite possibly a long one; he needs some space, even if just for a while. She should follow him._

She doesn’t say anything; doesn’t even nod in response. But one look into her eyes, and Bass already knows. She’ll be there. She’ll find him. She always does.

He turns and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry...angst. And I apologize if Miles seems kind of cold in this. I was really trying to capture the fact that he's basically wrapped around Rachel's finger. Hope I succeeded! If you'd be so kind, please leave a review! Seriously, your reviews fuel me to continue writing. :) Thanks for reading!!


	13. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to all the fantastic readers who have left some very lovely reviews! It's so much fun to write for you guys! Here's the next chapter. Not too much plot movement in this one, but I think you'll enjoy this...well, unless you don't like smut. :D

Bass walks deep into the forest, his mind racing so hard that he wouldn’t have even noticed had the Patriots or a nearby war clan – or literally any other threat – presented themselves before him at that moment. Thankfully, no such threat imposes itself on him, and he is left alone in the dark woods with just the moonlit sky, the wind-kissed trees, and his thoughts.

He eventually finds and settles down on a patch of grass beside a small, freshwater stream. He takes a generous drink and splashes his face with the icy water, sighing in relief as its coolness refreshes him. The white noise of the rippling waves is soothing to his furious heart, but everything inside him still aches and burns – for the loss of his son, for the loss of his friendship with Miles and the fact that Miles has formed a stupid alliance with Rachel, and ultimately, for Charlie.

Bass misses her. They’ve only been apart for about an hour, but God, he misses her so much.

 

\- - - 

 

Charlie grabs a blanket and a few other things and shoves them all into her pack. Then she grabs her knife and crossbow. “Grandpa, if Mom or Miles want to know where I went, just tell them I’ll be back.”

“Sweetheart.” Gene’s tone is gentle but wary. “I know you’re upset, but do you think it’s the best idea to go running off alone?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Where are you going at this hour, anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just tell them I’ll be back.” Charlie fastens the straps on her pack. She doesn’t meet her grandfather’s inquiring gaze.

“Charlie,” Gene sighs exhaustedly.

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” she repeats impatiently. She knows her grandpa means well, but she’s not interested in explaining herself. Not to him, not to Miles, and definitely not to her mother. She grabs her things and heads toward the storm cellar stairs.

“Charlie, hang on a second….”

She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t have a second. She’s waited long enough, and now she needs to find Bass.

She hears her grandpa’s defeated sigh as she climbs the stairs without looking back.

Her senses are on high alert as she makes her way into the woods. God knows what’s out there. But to her surprise and gratefulness, she doesn’t meet any trouble along the way.

It’s difficult to track Bass in the dark, but she manages. Finally, she finds him crouched down beside a small fire he’s built near a stream.

He turns and looks at her, defensively at first, but then the tension in his face instantly melts when he realizes it’s her.

She barely has enough time to drop her things before he jumps up and practically runs to her, grabbing her and firmly wrapping his arms around her. He buries his face in her hair and hugs her close.

Charlie hears him sigh and feels his muscles relax as soon as she’s in his embrace. She can’t help but feel the same relief herself. It feels good to be in his arms again; it feels like home. There’s no place she’d rather be than with him.

They eventually pull back and look into each other’s eyes, still wrapped up in one another’s arms.

“Are you okay?” Charlie breaks the silence.

Bass simply leans down and kisses her. It’s a short, gentle kiss – just one set of lips pressing into another pair, but it answers Charlie’s question louder than any words could. He’s fine. At least now he is. Now that she’s with him.

He leans his forehead against the crown of her head and closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she whispers, gently massaging the muscles in the back of his neck.

Bass lifts his head and looks at her. He suddenly looks disappointed. “Nuh uh. You don’t get to do that.”

“What? Do what?” She frowns.

His palm cups the side of her face. “Apologize for them. You’re not responsible for any of it, do you understand?”

She sighs and leans into his touch. “I know, but I just—”

“Nope. No apologizing. No justifying. You don’t owe anyone a damned thing. Okay, Charlotte?” His tone is definitive.

She nods, unable to argue with him. As she stares into his sea blue eyes, she has a desperate urge to tell him she loves him, but part of her is still too scared to utter those words out loud. As much as she wants to believe that it won’t, she can’t shake away from the fact that bad things happen when she admits she loves people. Always. Without fail. And she can’t even begin to bear the thought of anything bad, or worse, happening to Bass. He’s been through so much already.

So instead, she sighs again and offers him a soft, flirty smile. Maybe she’s not brave enough to tell him she loves him yet, but she can certainly show him. “So…I don’t know about you, but I could really use a bath. And I’m pretty sure there’s a small lake not far from here.”

“Lead the way.” He smiles back, and it sends a shiver right through her entire body. Damn, his smile is beautiful.

They put out the fire and gather their belongings. Then, hand in hand, they head off toward the lake.

It’s a warm, cloudless night, and the sky is filled with stars. The secluded lake glistens under the moonlight, and for the first time since they’ve returned to Willoughby, Charlie feels a sense of peace.

She pulls out some towels and a bar of homemade milk and lavender soap and is about to undress but stops when she notices Bass pulling off his clothes. She greedily watches as he removes each piece of clothing.

God, he’s beautiful. He’s tan and hard and perfectly sculpted and flawless and looks absolutely phenomenal under the soft glow of the moon. Charlie feels a warm ache in her center.

“Take your clothes off, Charlotte,” he commands in a low, raspy voice without even turning to look at her as he kicks off his jeans.

She gasps and bites her bottom lip. For so long, she hated that imposing tone of his. She also hated the fact that he has always preferred to call her Charlotte instead of Charlie. But now it’s become music to her ears, and it makes her insides quake with need. For him.

She quickly obeys his order, and they wade into the water together. It’s surprisingly warm and wonderful and exactly what they both need tonight.

They take turns washing every inch of each other; they shampoo each other’s hair and spend plenty of time sliding curious, soapy fingers into the nooks and crannies of one another’s bodies. Their hands continue to explore long after they’re both clean.

Bass groans when Charlie wraps her fingers around his dick and begins to stroke him up and down in firm, slow movements beneath the surface of the water. Her own center starts to throb as he hardens under her touch.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he throatily breathes out, eyes closed, while she works him.

Charlie holds her breath and watches in total wonder. He’s such a powerful man – sometimes downright scary, even; he’s the same man who led armies of men. His name alone used to cause people to tremble. And, yet, in this moment, he is completely at her mercy.

His eyes pop open, and he practically glares at her when her hand prematurely stops its activity. “Wh-what…why did you…?”

“Follow me,” she simply says and grabs his hand, leading him toward shore.

They very quickly dry off their freshly cleaned bodies, and Charlie reaches for the blanket in her bag. She rolls it out and grins at him.

“Lie down,” she tells him, one eyebrow mischievously arched.

He smirks and complies.

Charlie pushes his muscular thighs apart and settles down between them on her knees. Her wet hair drips tiny droplets onto his skin. “Now just relax.”

He doesn’t respond but his face smolders eagerly. He props himself up onto his elbows and watches her with reverent attention.

She pushes her stringy hair behind her bare shoulders and grabs the base of his cock.

He moans softly when she leans down and places soft, warm kisses on his balls. “Charlie, you don’t have to—”

“Shh,” she cuts him off between kisses. “I want to, Bass. Please let me.” And before he can protest again, she lowers her mouth onto him.

He moans again, louder this time, approving her actions.

Charlie smiles and slides her tongue up and down his length, committing his unique taste and texture to memory while frequently glancing at him to make sure he’s enjoying what she’s doing.

His eyes are hooded and dilated, and he looks delirious. But he never looks away from her.

She finally stops at the tip of his cock and he groans again when she licks his slit. Then she captures his head in her mouth and begins to suck generously.

“Oh…yeah…” he sighs. “That’s good.”

Her heart flutters at his satisfaction. She’s never done this to anyone before. Then again, she’s never loved any of the other guys she’s ever been with. But she loves him. Completely. And tonight, she wants him to feel every ounce of that love.

“Mm…so big. And you taste so good,” she murmurs against him before surrounding him with her lips again.

He just reaches for her damp hair and silently encourages her to continue.

She wraps her fingers around the part of him her mouth can’t reach and then proceeds to move up and down on him, lips and hand in sync, until she finds a rhythm he really likes. His thigh muscles appreciatively twitch and he begins to gently thrust into her mouth at a steady, constant pace.

She can tell he’s trying his best to not take his eyes off of her, but then his climax rips through him, and he violently throws his head back. He hisses as his hot seed shoots directly into her mouth and down her throat, and he flops back onto the blanket, his chest rising and falling in a satisfied pant.

Charlie slowly releases him with a pop and hungrily licks her lips.

“Oh my god, Charlotte,” he whispers, still panting.

She crawls up his body and lies down on top of him, her tits smashing into his chest. She smiles when she feels the thundering of his heart against her breasts and looks into his eyes. “Was that…okay? That was the first time I’ve ever….”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He chuckles and tucks her hair behind her ears. “That was perfect. _You_ were perfect.”

Her smile widens, and she kisses him.

Their mouths meet in a starving, furious fashion – tongues licking, teeth biting, lips urgently sucking, while their hands stroke each other’s heated flesh.

Charlie moans into Bass’s mouth when he grabs her breasts and roughly squeezes them, inflicting the perfect blend of pleasure and pain. It sends a bolt of heat straight to her wet, throbbing core.

They roll around until she’s flat on her back and he’s above her, and then, within seconds, his mouth closes around one of her nipples while his fingers play with the slick, swollen folds of her sex. She tangles her fingers into his curls and arches toward him, submitting to the pleasure of his beard and lips and fingers on her skin.

“I need you inside,” she rasps out after just a few minutes. “Now.”

“Mm…yes, ma’am,” he replies, removing his lips from her breasts and hovering over her.

She watches, face enlivened with anticipation, as he strokes his dick a few times and then lines himself up at her heat.

Bass wastes no time. He pushes into her hard and fast in one swift motion, filling her up and then retreating before he slams back in.

Charlie hisses and whines, her voice echoing off of the trees, as she wraps her legs around his ass and meets his movements, thrust for thrust.

“God, you’re so wet,” Bass grunts, quickening his pace.

“Just for you,” she answers, digging her fingernails into the tops of his shoulders before pulling him down for a kiss.

They move together in quick, hard motions, their hot skin smacking loudly, mouths locked, mimicking the actions of their lower regions.    

Bass eventually breaks from the kiss. “Move your legs, I’m about to—”

But Charlie does the exact opposite of his request. Instead of untangling her legs from around him, she tightens them.

“Charlie!” he barks at her. “Fuck. I’m gonna come any second….”

“I know. Don’t pull out. Please.” She clamps her thighs against his hips, restricting him, holding him in place.

And by then, it’s too late. He explodes into a million pieces right inside of her.

“Fuck,” he says but continues to move against her.

“Touch me. I’m close.” She’s practically gasping for air as she feels the heat in her belly growing.

He doesn’t argue and begins to stroke her clit with his thumb.

Her orgasm hits hard and fast and she quickly falls apart, hissing and groaning, with him still trapped inside of her. Her inner walls violently spasm around him, her warm pussy licking his shaft, pulling him in even further.

She finally collapses and places a hand against her sweaty chest. She can feel her heart pounding under her palm. She breathes deep in an effort to regain her composure.

Bass takes a second to catch his own breath and then leans down and kisses her on the lips. Then he pulls back and stares at her, question in his eyes.

“I just needed to feel all of you,” she says before he can even voice his concern.

He pushes a few stray hairs away from her face. “Not that I don’t love that…because, believe me. I do. But you do realize that could get us in a lot of trouble, right?”

She sighs and stares at his chiseled, sweat-dampened chest. “I know.”

“Your mom already wants me dead. Let’s not give her yet another reason, shall we?”

“Ugh. Why are we talking about my mom?” Charlie pouts. “Talk about buzz kill.”

Bass quietly laughs. “You’re a brat, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you still love me,” she quips mindlessly. But then she freezes, noticing the sudden seriousness of his expression.

They fall silent for a moment, both lost in one another’s gazes.

“I do,” he finally says in a low whisper. “I love you, Charlotte.” He kisses her forehead.

She looks at him. Shit. He said the very words she’s longed to hear and yet feared so much for so long. She’s never really been the praying type, but in that moment, Charlie says a silent prayer, asking whoever might be listening to never let this man be taken away from her.

Then she reaches up and touches his cheek. Her face and voice are soft as she tells him, “I love you, too.”

And once the words are out, she realizes she doesn’t regret them. At all. She loves him.

Bass smiles that devastatingly wonderful smile and captures her lips with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review!!!


	14. Out of the Woods

Miles’s head feels like it’s spinning, but he doesn’t even care. He knows he’s already had too much, but he still takes swig after swig from the giant bottle of whiskey in his hand and groans as the amber liquid burns down his throat.

He hasn’t gotten full-blown smashed in quite some time, because, frankly, he’s been too fucking busy lately, taking care of everyone and their mother’s goddamned problems. And, much to his disdain, that typically requires sobriety.

But tonight, he’s just done. He doesn’t care. Today has been the worst. He feels like a colossal failure, and he wants that feeling gone. So, while Rachel and Gene are back at the quarantine camp, he sits alone in the storm cellar, drinking away his problems – or, at least, trying to drink away his problems…if only he can get his stupid brain to put the brakes on for a bit. No matter how much alcohol he consumes, he can’t seem to get his mind to stop torturing him.

Guilt raps at his heart as he thinks about Connor. He never intended to lose track of the kid. He also never meant for him to get hurt. And yet, that’s exactly what happened.

It’s almost ironic. For years, he told himself he was doing Connor a favor by protecting him from his unhinged, megalomaniacal dad.

And now the kid is dead.

And Bass is even more heartbroken than Miles ever imagined possible.

Fuck.

Miles takes another liberal gulp of whiskey. Lord only knows how badly this will destroy Bass. The guy was just barely starting to get his bearings back, but if history is to repeat itself, that’s all about to go straight down the drain. And it’s all Miles’s fault this time. It’s like he can’t do anything right anymore. 

Yet, oddly, that’s not what he feels most guilty about. Most of his guilty revolves around Charlie. She was _really_ angry this evening. Way angrier than Miles has ever seen her. And now she’s out there…God knows where…and there’s no knowing if she’ll come back anytime soon. If ever. She told Gene she’d be back, but Miles has his doubts.

Miles wants to be pissed at Gene for letting her walk away in the first place, but honestly, he can’t be. He also wants to blame Rachel for Charlie’s decision to leave yet again, given the constant strain of their mother-daughter relationship, especially lately, but he can’t bring himself to do that, either. At the end of it all, he blames himself for Charlie’s exodus. He hasn’t exactly been there for her lately, and now he’s paying for that choice.

He considered going after her when Gene informed him and Rachel that she was gone, but Miles knows his niece – she’s fucking stubborn…and smart as hell (naturally…she is a Matheson, after all). Unless Charlie wants to be found, there will be no finding her. And given his luck lately, even attempting to go after her will probably somehow make things worse.  

He suddenly feels sick and claustrophobic, so he reluctantly sets down his bottle and decides he needs some air. It’s probably a really stupid idea to go for a walk in the middle of the night while he’s intoxicated – especially with the Patriots still crawling all over town, but then, Miles has been making a lot of stupid decisions lately. What’s one more? Right?

He grabs his swords and heads out into the night.

 

\- - -

 

Bass finally feels calm and content. He is warm and sated and fed and has Charlie in his arms. They’re still in the woods, sitting around a fire, limbs tangled together in a snuggly embrace, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He knows they’ll eventually have to return to the safe house – whether by choice or by force (the woods aren’t exactly the safest place to spend prolonged periods of time), but for now, he’s too happy to focus on that.  

After their vigorous lovemaking session at the lake, they finally got dressed and then went hunting for some food since neither of them had eaten in quite a while. It didn’t take long for Charlie to find and shoot a couple of squirrels, which they then skinned and roasted over an open fire, along with some wild mushrooms. It wasn’t a huge meal by any means, but it was good enough to satisfy them both.

Now, they sit, speaking only occasionally about trivial things, and mostly just staring at the fire in comfortable silence. Charlie is nestled between Bass’s legs, her back pressed to his chest, while he engulfs her from behind. His back rests against an old log and his chin is tucked between her shoulder and the side of her neck. It’s warm and intimate and peaceful.

“I miss ice cream,” Charlie suddenly sighs, leaning back into Bass’s frame. “And birthday cake.”

He chuckles. “Um…okay.”

“I have no idea why I just thought of that,” she admits.

Bass chuckles again before pushing her hair to one side and pressing his lips to her exposed neck.

“I just got a flash of these random, super vague memories of eating cake and ice cream at my fifth birthday party....”

“Oh yeah, your _Little Mermaid_ -themed party.” Bass casually mumbles into her skin. “You were dressed up like Ariel.”

That causes her to turn and look at him. “Wait, what? How’d you know that?”

He snorts. “‘Cause I was there.”

Her eyes widen. “You _were_?”

“Yeah, and clearly, I left a lasting impression on the birthday girl.” He playfully taps her nose.

Charlie thoughtfully tilts her head to the side in a genuine effort to remember. Then she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I seriously don’t remember that.”

“Meh. Oh well.” He shrugs and goes back to kissing her neck. But then he stops. “Is that weird for you?”

“No, it feels good.”

“No, I meant…that I was at that birthday party…and not…you know, five, like all your other friends?”

Charlie laughs. “I dunno…not really? Now, the real question is: did you get me a good gift?”

“Hm, let’s see. What did I get you? I think that’s the year Miles and I got you a bike.”

“ _The Little Mermaid_ one! My first two-wheeler. Oh my god, it all makes sense!”

“Ouch.” Bass feigns hurt. “You remembered the gift but not the giver? That hurts, Charlotte.”

“Aww, sorry, Uncle Bass,” she teases back.

“ _Uncle Bass_? You brat!” He starts to scold her, but their moment is interrupted by the sudden sound of a snapping twig not more than a few feet away.

“What was that?” Charlie leans up and whips her head to the side. She worriedly stares out at the darkened trees.

Bass finds himself reaching for his knife. He mentally prays that it’s nothing more than an animal. He’s really not in the mood to deal with the Patriots or any other significant threat tonight.

“Don’t make any sudden movements,” he whispers into Charlie’s ear.

She quietly nods. She’s just about to pull herself up from his embrace, but she freezes and digs her fingers into the tops of Bass’s denim-covered thighs when Miles comes stumbling through the trees and into the light of their fire, sword in hand.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Bass groans under his breath.

He doesn’t let go of his knife. Given the fact that Charlie is still sitting between his legs, Miles will probably try to kill him right then and there. And he figures it’s best to be prepared. He won’t hurt Miles, but he’ll sure as hell fight him if he has to.

But Miles seems distracted. Actually, no, Miles seems…disoriented.

Bass rolls his eyes. His idiot friend is drunk.

“What the fuck! Charlie? _Bass_?!” Miles slurs, his dark, dilated eyes growing wide with disbelief as the sight before him seems to slowly register.

Charlie grunts and stands up. “What the hell are you doing out here? And you’re drunk!”

Bass, too, stands to his feet, dropping his knife after all. “Whoa…take it easy, brother.”

Miles looks like he’s about to bust a nut. “Don’t _brother_ me, you son of a bitch! What are you doing with her?!”

“Miles!” Charlie yells and grabs Bass’s arm when Miles drunkenly swings his sword and misses Bass’s head by a long shot.

“Get a way from her, Bass! Or I’ll….” Miles swings again. And misses. Again.

Bass watches for a few seconds before effortlessly snatching the sword from Miles’s hand and tossing it to the ground. He then grabs Miles by his jacket and slams him into a nearby tree, glowering hard while Miles whimpers in pain.

“Just calm down, alright?” Bass growls. “I can explain.”

“I’m gonna kill you!” Miles threatens, still trapped between Bass and the tree.

Bass laughs. He can’t help it. “God, Miles…same line; different scene. How many more times are you gonna throw that one at me, huh?”

“I’m serious, you stupid fuck! I’ll do it this time!” Miles tries to punch him, but Bass easily dodges his fist and instead shoves Miles into the tree again.

“Stop it! Both of you.” Charlie grabs Bass and pulls him back. Her heated gaze zeros in on her uncle as she steps between the two men.

“Damn it, Charlie! What the fuck are you doing with him? You’re smarter than this,” Miles says, his words not entirely enunciated. He’s still drunk but seems to be sobering up just a touch.

Charlie angrily folds her arms over her chest. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Or to anyone.”

“You did this, didn’t you?” Miles glares at Bass. “What did you do?” He lunges forward once more but staggers right into Charlie, who pushes him back.

Bass shakes his head and sighs. Of all the ways he imagined Miles finding out about him and Charlie, this wasn’t one of them. This is almost comical. Mostly, though, it’s just pathetic. But he’s not sure he can complain.

“What’d you do?” Miles repeats, louder and more indignant this time.

“Nothing!” Bass insists. “I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

“You’re lying!” Miles screams, his words echoing off the trees.

“Will you stop yelling? You’re gonna get us all killed,” Charlie rebukes him. “And for the record….”

Bass is a little surprised when she slips her hand into his and gives it a firm squeeze.

“Bass didn’t do anything,” she states. “ _I_ made this choice, and I’d make it again in a heartbeat. This is what I want.”

Bass’s lips curl into a proud smile as he watches Charlie square her shoulders and stare confidently back at Miles. This woman is literally the most fearless person he’s ever met, and he gets to call her his.  

“You guys are fucking idiots. _Both_ of you.” Miles’s face knits into a tight, disapproving frown as he looks back and forth between Bass and Charlie. He then turns around and leans his head against the tree. “God, my head hurts.”

“Let’s just…let’s everyone calm down for a minute, and we can talk about this,” Bass offers.

Miles pitifully taps his forehead against the tree. “Rachel’s gonna kill you guys. And then me if she finds out I knew about this.” He turns around again and looks at Charlie. “How did this even happen? I mean, seriously… _him_?” He points to Bass.

“Dude. I’m standing _right_ here.” Bass narrows his eyes, to which Miles just scowls.

“Yeah, Miles. _Him_ ,” Charlie mocks and tightens her fingers around Bass’s. “And, if faced with the same choice again, the truth is, I’d choose him again and again.”

Miles groans despondently and then grumbles something under his breath that neither Bass nor Charlie can quite make out. But Bass is almost positive he hears the word ‘ _Rachel_ ’ somewhere in there.

“Well,” he says to Charlie, gently squeezing her fingers. “So…that just happened.”

He can tell she’s trying to hold in a giggle. She doesn’t say anything, but her curious eyes seem to ask: _‘What now?’_

Bass shakes his head. He honestly doesn’t have a fucking clue. But at least Miles finding out about them hasn’t resulted in Bass’s death. Yet.

They eventually put out the fire, collect their things, and head back toward the storm cellar. Miles more or less journeys back with them but silently fumes the entire time and walks several paces ahead, consistently keeping a noticeable distance from them.

Charlie stays close to Bass’s side while they walk, her hand frequently brushing against his and occasionally intertwining with his when she seems certain that Miles isn’t looking. Why she suddenly seems to care if Miles is even watching is beyond Bass, and frankly, he finds the whole thing amusing if not a little tiresome. But he doesn’t say anything.

The Mathesons are a weird little family, Bass internally acknowledges; they’re all so strong and so brave, but they can also be so juvenile at times. And yet, he knows he can’t stay away from them – nor does he want to. They’re a weird little family, sure. But they’re his.

 

\- - -

 

The sun is just beginning to rise when they make it back to the safe house, and Charlie is more than happy to put yesterday behind her (well, except for the part where she and Bass admitted they loved each other and then proceeded to have hot sex under the stars; she most definitely wants a repeat of that part).

She’s also glad to discover that her mother and grandfather are still down at the quarantine camp. After the whole ordeal with Miles in the woods, Charlie’s not sure she’s ready to deal with any more family drama – at least not right away.

Miles passes out on his sleeping bag literally seconds after they’re back in the storm cellar, leaving Charlie and Bass to collectively assess the weirdness of the past twenty-four hours.

“Honestly, that could have been a lot worse,” Bass admits, pulling Charlie down to sit in front of him.

“Mmm…yeah, it really could have,” she sighs in agreement as his firm fingers begin to knead the tight kinks in her neck and shoulders. “And, I mean…now he knows. And I actually think he'll come around after a while. So…that’s one less person to deal with.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that when he sobers up. I’ll probably still get my ass kicked,” he tells her, working on the knot in her right shoulder blade. “But you’re worth it.”

She moans approvingly and glances over at Miles, who is quietly snoring on the floor. “You realize Miles is all talk, right? I mean, with that whole… _I’m gonna kill Monroe_ thing. He’ll never actually go through with it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“He cares about you. I know he doesn’t always act like it, but you’re still important to him.” Charlie really needs Bass to know that. Miles can be a stubborn, blockheaded jackass at times, but somewhere underneath that macho exterior, he still feels something for his old friend. Charlie is certain of it.

“You know, I think you’re right. And I think things are gonna get better. I can’t really explain it, but I just have this feeling,” Bass says. She smiles, hearing the contentment in his voice.

“I hope so,” she replies, but she hears anxiety in her own voice.

Bass clearly hears it, too. “But…?”

She sighs. “I guess it’s hard for me to be optimistic when I’m still worried about my mom’s reaction. My relationship with her is already so screwed up, ya know? I can't imagine this will make things any easier. Not that I won't fight for this, but....”

“Hey, we could always just get your mom drunk, too, before we tell her,” he teases, a clear attempt to lighten her heavy heart.

“Get me drunk before you tell me _what_ , Bass?”

Charlie’s eyes fill with horror as she glances up and sees her very angry mother standing on the storm cellar steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-duuuuun! Sorry for the cliffy. ;) And once again, I can't thank you all enough for the fantastic reviews! Please keep reviewing!!


	15. Barely Standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles to the rescue! Well...sorta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a Miles fan, I think you'll enjoy this chapter. He was quite fun to write! I'm not sure how spot on my version of him is, but...well...I tried, lol. On the other hand, if you're a Rachel fan...um...sorry? Lol!
> 
> WARNING: I ended up going in the 'that night in Philly' direction during the Rachel/Charlie conversation in this chapter. I hate that the show ever brought that in, but it seemed appropriate for the purposes of this chapter. Sorry! Please don't hate me! Consider this your warning. :) And, obviously, this is just one interpretation of why that horrific moment happened. And whatever Charloe drama/angst is here in this chapter, I promise: it's not going to last (for too long, anyway). So keep reading! Things WILL get better! ;)

“Before you tell me what?” Rachel repeats more aggressively. Her volume wakes up Miles, who groans in pain and sits up in response to the commotion.

Charlie’s heart hammers inside her chest as she stands, pulling Bass up with her. She doesn’t let go of his hand. Fear instantly seizes her, but she brazenly stares back at her mother. Bass grips her hand tightly.

“Oh, Lord, here we go,” Miles gruffly mutters and stands to his feet.

Charlie’s a little surprised when Miles walks forward and plants himself right beside her. She fully expected him to go to her mother, but he doesn’t.

Rachel’s blue eyes seethe with hate and knowing vehemence as she settles them on Charlie and Bass’s connected hands. Then she slowly drags her gaze back up to meet her daughter’s face. She descends the stairs in an almost villainous style and then crosses her arms in front of her.

“Well, I guess I should have known.” A cold smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth. “First you bring him here. Then you ask me to save him. Then you both run off to Mexico…. I should have known it was just a matter of time before Monroe turned you into his own, personal whore.”

“Rachel!” Bass hisses and lurches forward. “You bitch!”

But Charlie doesn’t let go of his hand and pulls him back. She knows exactly what her mother is doing. Rachel is trying to get a reaction out of her – out of them both, and Charlie refuses to give her that satisfaction.  

“Rachel, come on…” Miles says, sounding sick and tired. “This isn’t the way to deal with this.”

Rachel’s eyes shoot up to meet Miles’s. “Did you know about this?”

His expression is grim. “Not for much longer than you.”

“But you knew,” Rachel clarifies, her words dripping with bitterness. She turns back to Charlie. “So did he tell you?” She motions to Bass.

“Tell me what?” Charlie challenges in return.

Rachel knowingly raises her eyebrows and meets Bass’s stare. “Oh. So you didn’t tell her.”

Bass squeezes Charlie’s hand and grits his teeth. “I swear to God, Rachel….”

Charlie wants to be strong, but the desperate, almost guilty shift on Bass’s countenance somehow gets under her skin. “Tell me what?” She asks him. “What is she talking about?”

He breathes hard, anxiety strewn across his features, and doesn’t say anything.

“Bass?” Charlie’s practically begging now. “What’s going on?”

“Rachel, you really don’t want to do this,” Miles warns.

“Actually, Miles, I think I do,” she scoffs. “I think my daughter has a right to know that she’s not the first Matheson woman to be defiled by this _monster_.”

“For fuck’s sake…Rachel, what is wrong with you?!” Miles screams.

Charlie’s stomach instantly turns. She looks up at Bass again. “What is she….?” She can’t even finish her question.

“Charlie, don’t listen to her.” Bass has tears in his eyes. “She’s—”

“Telling the truth,” Rachel finishes. “So next time you’re letting him screw you, Charlie, just remember where else he’s been.”

“Rachel, stop!” Miles shouts. “Charlie….”

Charlie feels like she’s just been punched in the gut. Without even noticing it, she takes a few steps back. Her hand remains in Bass’s until he squeezes it, and she realizes it’s still there. She quickly pulls it away.

“No, Charlie! Wait!” He tries to grab it again.

But Charlie steps back behind Miles, shaking her head as thick, hot tears begin to slide down her cheeks.

“Okay, that’s enough! All of you. Everyone needs to stop.” Miles holds his hands up. He is furious.

“Charlie—” Bass tries to push past Miles, but Miles stops him.

“Don’t.” Miles’s answer is short but unyielding.

Charlie can’t breathe. She literally feels like the wind has been knocked right out of her lungs. She feels nauseous. And faint. And betrayed. And more alone than ever. She turns away from Bass as more tears flood her vision. She can’t look at him. She can’t look at her mother. She feels suffocated and needs to get out of here.

“Rachel, get outside. We need to talk,” Miles demands.

“About what?” Rachel feigns innocence and indifference.

“Outside! _Now_!” Miles grabs her by the arm and drags her up the stairs. The storm cellar door slams shut.

“Charlie…” Bass says her name weakly, tears causing his voice to crack. “Charlie, listen to me, I can explain….”

“Don’t talk to me.” Charlie can hardly recognize her own grief-stricken voice. “I…I have to go.” She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t bother to grab her things, and instead races up the storm cellar steps and out into the daylight.

She barely makes it outside before her knees buckle, and she falls to the grassy ground. Her body shakes in violent spasms as she gives in to sob after sob.

 

***   

 

Bass punches the storm cellar wall and watches as blood gushes from his knuckles. It doesn’t even faze him. He punches again. And again. The physical pain is nothing compared to the pain he feels in his heart. His insides burn and feel like they’re about to explode. He feels sick and dizzy and filled with an insatiable need for vengeance. He feels like killing.

For all the times he’s ever wanted Rachel Matheson dead, the desire has never been as strong as it is now. This time, she’s gone too far. She’s taken her bitchery to an entirely new level, and Bass isn’t sure he can let this one go.

He falls to the floor, his back slamming into the wall behind him, and becomes completely consumed by his tears. His body shakes – with fury, with hatred, with confusion, with excruciating heartbreak, and he finds himself once again slipping into a mental state of darkness.    

 

***

 

“You are _unbelievable_!” Miles is one step away from slapping Rachel across the face. He rakes his shaky, adrenaline-infused fingers through his hair and paces back and forth inside the old, abandoned barn that’s just behind the storm cellar.

“I could say the same about you,” Rachel fires right back, arrogant and unfazed. “You knew and you didn’t tell me? And worse…you didn’t try to stop it?”

“Damn it, Rachel! Just shut up!” Miles suddenly grabs her by the shoulders and squeezes. Hard. She whimpers in pain, but he doesn’t let go. “Did you not see the look on Charlie’s face just now?!”

For the first time in a long time, Rachel Matheson looks afraid. She stares into Miles’s eyes and then begins to cry. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I just…it’s…Monroe….”

“But you _did_ hurt her!” He lets go of her shoulders before he does any significant damage. Part of him almost wants to; and that terrifies him. “You hurt her bad this time.”

“ _He’s_ the one who’s going to hurt her!” Rachel protests. “How can you be stupid enough to not see that? I’m not the bad guy here. I’m just trying to protect my daughter!”

Miles doesn’t bother to hold in his repulsed laughter. Is Rachel truly that delusional? “Yeah, _you_ fucking deserve the World’s Best Mother Award.”

“That’s not fair!” She barks. “ _Why_ are you turning this around on me?”  

Miles turns away, unable to look at her any longer, his stomach in knots. He loves this woman, but right now, he’s not sure why. “Don’t you get it, Rach?”

“What?”

Miles still can’t face her. “We did this. To Charlie. You and I have been so wrapped up in all this goddamned Patriot garbage and your Nano shit…and…each other, and…. It shouldn’t exactly come as a shock that she went running to Bass.”

“So, what are you saying? That it’s just a phase? Some post-blackout equivalent to teenage angst? Miles, he’s going to hurt her.”

Miles pushes his fingers through his hair again. “No. I don’t know what it is. Honestly. And I’m not even saying I like it, necessarily. But it’s happening.”

“Yeah. Which is why _we_ need to stop it.”

“No, what _we_ need to do is stop hurting each other…all of us. This family is barely standing as it is, and if we can’t figure out a fucking way to be there for each other, it’s only a matter of time before it falls apart completely.”

Rachel doesn’t answer, but Miles can still hear her crying.

“You’re not always going to agree with everything Charlie does. But when you don’t agree, hurting her more isn’t the answer. You owe your kid an apology, Rachel.” He finally turns and looks at her, his face stiff and severe. “But honestly, I’m not sure if you guys are gonna come back from this one. You really hurt her this time.”

Rachel just looks lost.

“You should…go…for a walk or something. Take a couple of days if you have to. Or go back to the camp. Help your dad or whatever. I don’t know.” 

“What are you gonna do?” She finally asks.

“I’m gonna go find Charlie.”

“Miles?”

“What?”

“Will you tell her I—”

“Nope. I’m not telling her anything from you. Just go, Rachel. Before things get any worse.”

 

\- - -

 

Charlie hears footsteps approaching but doesn’t bother looking to see who it is. She’s still lying in the grass between the barn and the storm cellar. Her body feels lifeless, and her bloodshot eyes burn from all the crying she did earlier.

“Hey, kid.”

It’s Miles.

He crouches down beside her and gently lays a hand on her upper arm. “You okay?”

She shakes her head but doesn’t reply.

Miles sighs and pats her on the shoulder. “You feel like talking?”

Again, Charlie doesn’t respond. Not even with a headshake this time. Part of her wishes that Miles will just go away. But she’s also somewhat glad that he’s here, checking on her. It’s been a long time since he’s done that.

“Look, what your mom did back there…that was pretty fucked up.”

“If you’re here to tell me that I need to keep an open mind or forgive her or something, don’t bother,” she mutters at the grass. “I don’t want to hear it.”   

“Well, then, you’re in luck. ‘Cause that’s not why I came out here.”

That gets her attention. She slowly pushes herself up into a sitting position and looks at him.

He gives her a tired, sad smile and holds a hand out to her, which she eventually takes it, and lets him help her up to her feet.

“I told her she owes you an apology,” Miles says. “I also told her there’s no guarantee an apology will fix anything.”

Charlie’s eyes drop to the ground. She can see the imprint of her body on the grass. “She’s hurt me a lot…pretty much all my life, really. I’ve basically gotten to the point where I expect it now. But this is just….”

Miles pulls her into a protective hug. “I know, kid. And you have ever right to be pissed.”

Charlie feels new tears forming in her eyes. Shit. Not again. She’s so tired of crying. “How can she…?”

Miles doesn’t even give her a chance to finish her question. “Because, sometimes, your mom can be a real bitch,” Then he chuckles. “Sorry, I know she’s your mom and all.”

Charlie sighs and presses her wet cheek into the worn material of Miles’s t-shirt. “I don’t even know what to do now.”

He kisses the top of her hair, and Charlie is suddenly flooded with the memory of her dad. Her dad used to do that.

“You’ll figure it out,” Miles says. “You always do.”

She pulls back enough to look at her uncle’s face.

He offers her a lopsided grin and swipes his thumb under her eyes. “You gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs and lays her head back against his chest.

A moment of silence passes before Miles breaks it. “Can I tell you something? Without you getting mad?”

Charlie frowns up at him and notices his hesitant expression.

But finally, he says, “What happened between your mom and….”

Anger instantly assaults Charlie’s heart. But she somehow doesn’t pull away. Her instincts, for whatever reason, tell her she needs to hear this, so she tries her best to swallow her anger and listen.

“Look.” Miles unwraps his arms from around her and begins to pick out the pieces of grass that are stuck in her hair. “I’m not saying any of it was okay…by any stretch of the imagination. But you just need to know that Bass was in a really bad place back then. I mean, a _really_ bad place. We all were. And…the truth is, whatever happened between them was a really long time ago and has more to do with me than it does them.”

Charlie absently pushes his hand away from her hair. “What do you mean?”

Miles shoves his hands into his pockets and stares at his boots for a second. “Your mom wanted to give me another reason to kill him. I was having a hard time going through with it, and…. Well, let’s just say she knew how pissed I’d be if I ever found out he touched her.”

“Wait, what?” Charlie frowns hard and steps closer. “So you’re saying my mom—”

Miles shakes his head. “I’m just saying that it’s all a fucked up mess and way more complicated than you probably even realize.”

Charlie honestly has no idea what to think. She just stares at Miles for a long time, trying to make sense of his words.

“My point is, the three of us have been friends a long time, and we’ve all done a lot of stupid, selfish shit that we’ll never be able to take back.”

“I know that,” she sighs. “And I’m not even asking anyone to take back anything. I just…I wish I’d found out under different circumstances. I wish he’d told me himself.”

“Charlie,” Miles says but then grows quiet for several seconds, his dark brown eyes narrowing as he searches for something in her face. Then he groans and leans his head back. “Fucking hell….”

“What?” Charlie crosses her arms over her chest.

Miles looks at her again. “You’re in love with that idiot, aren’t you?”

Charlie feels a hot blush crawl up her cheeks. “I….”

Miles groans again. “Where is he, anyway?”

“I’m not sure. He might still be in the storm cellar.” Charlie suddenly feels anxious.

“God. Okay. Let’s go find your lovesick moron.”

She narrows her eyes. “ _Lovesick_ moron?”

Miles quietly chuckles. “Trust me, I’ve known him since we were kids. I know when he’s in love. And the way he was looking at you earlier….”

Charlie raises her eyebrows. “Wait a minute. So…you’re not mad?”

“Believe me, kiddo. I want to be.”

“But you’re not?” She coaxes, her eyes hopefully wide.

Miles shakes his head. “I don’t think I can be. We live in a pretty fucked up world, and finding love isn’t exactly a cakewalk these days. I want you to be happy. And when I saw you guys last night…or this morning, or whatever…in the woods…and even when you guys got back from Mexico, I could tell. His stupid, sorry ass somehow makes you happy. And you make him happy. Who am I to stand in your way?”

Charlie’s face bursts into a smile. She suddenly feels the weight of the world lifting off of her. She can’t believe Miles has basically just given them his approval. She needs to find Bass and fix things before it’s too late. But first she throws her arms around her uncle and gives him a tight hug. It’s her silent way of telling him she loves him and her way of thanking him for everything: for not being mad, for standing by her side when she needed him most, for taking up for her with her mom, and for ultimately being concerned about her (and Bass’s) happiness.

Then an unforeseen, less than kosher thought slams into her, and she abruptly pulls out of the hug. She blushes again. “Wait, about…what you saw in the woods. How much did you…you know, actually see?”

Miles eyes widen. “Shit, Charlie. Were you guys….before I…? Oh, _hell_. Don’t tell me shit like that!”

“Not when you walked up,” she defends quickly, her face sheepish. “Or, at least, not _right_ before you walked up….”

“Okay, alright! Stop it!” Miles practically shivers with disgust. “Do you know how many bottles of whiskey it’ll take to get that image out of my head? Jeez, kid. You’re my niece. And he’s my brother.”

“Sorry.” She bites her lip, unable to contain her smile.

Miles huffs out a flustered breath and starts to walk toward the storm cellar without another word.

“Hey, Miles?” Charlie quickly follows.

He stops and looks at her.

“You realize what you just said, right?”

“About needing a lot of whiskey?”

“No,” she chuckles. “You called him your brother.”

He narrows his eyes at her, but he’s definitely trying to hold back a smile. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come! Please leave reviews!!


	16. Dust to Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super thrilled about the way this chapter turned out, but I tried it a bunch of different ways, and this is the one that turned out somewhat decent. I just hope these characters aren't becoming too OOC. They're already different from the original characters on the show, but...IDK. I'm gonna shut up and let you all read now, lol. A heartfelt thanks to all of you who are still reading and reviewing this fic! You guys rock!

Miles doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the need to release it becomes too great. He anxiously exhales and trudges down the creaky storm cellar steps. He has no idea what he’s going to find down here. He desperately prays in his heart that he doesn’t find a corpse.

“Bass?” He calls out almost timidly. His chest tightens with worry when there’s no response.

He looks around, his apprehension growing stronger with every passing second. The air around him is thick with dust and tension.

“Bass!” He repeats, unconcerned by his own sudden franticness. ‘ _Where the fuck is he?_ ’

“Shoulda just done it….” His old friend finally slurs from the darkest corner of the cellar.

Miles exhales again, this time more freely, allowing relief to filter into his bones – even if that feeling is only temporary. He has known Bass long enough to know that the next few moments will most likely be anything but pleasant. The frown across Miles’s scruffy features hardens.

He slowly and cautiously approaches the shadowy corner, still unsure about what he’ll find. What he finds definitely isn’t the worst. However, it’s not the best, either. Or maybe it is, considering the circumstances.

Bass is on the floor, his back pressed to the wall, forearms resting on his bent knees, face streaked with tear tracks, eyes red, puffy, and crazed, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his left hand, the knuckles on his right hand encrusted with blood.

Miles doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask for any kind of clarification. He knows he needs to tread lightly. When Bass gets like this, there’s no knowing what might happen.

A dull pain squeezes Miles’s heart as he takes a good, long look at the drunk, depressed shell of a man before him. Bass looks…small. And weak.

Miles has been so busy with everything…with _life_ , lately…and before that, with being hell-bent pissed at Bass for everything that happened with the Republic that he hasn’t had time to feel sorry for his once best friend. But suddenly, he feels extremely sorry for him and for everything that life has done to the poor guy. Bass wasn’t always like this. He was good once. Maybe that goodness is still in there, somewhere. Maybe it just needs to be pulled out somehow. Maybe Charlie has the power to bring it back to the surface. Miles decides he has to hold on to that hope. He wants his brother back.

“Shoulda done it,” Bass drunkenly repeats before taking another swig from his bottle.

“Done what?” Miles finally asks, working hard to keep the usual cynicism and gruffness out of his voice.

“Why didn’t you just do it?” Bass’s voice is practically hoarse and his eyes are wet with fresh tears.

Miles slowly sinks into the spot on the floor beside his buddy. He leans his back against the wall.

Bass doesn’t turn to look at him. His eyes are idly affixed to a spot on the dirty floor. “You had so many chances.”

Miles is starting to understand what Bass is implying, but he doesn’t respond. How can he?

“I hurt her.” The words leave Bass’s lips in a monotone, absent whisper. He continues to stare at the floor. “I hurt her.”

“Hey,” Miles replies with just the faintest bit of authority in his voice. “That’s not true, alright? Rachel hurt her.”

Bass blinks, and tears instantly slide down his face. “You should’ve done it years ago, Miles. Should’ve just killed me when you had the chance. Why didn’t you?”

Miles feels his heart sink even further, if that’s even possible. He silently stares at his brooding friend. This is different than anything Miles has ever seen before, and Miles has seen a lot. He’s seen Bass in love before. He’s also seen Bass torn apart by love. He’s seen him at his best and at his worst. But whatever _this_ is…Miles can’t even put it into words. To say that Bass Monroe is deeply and madly in love this time – and to say that Bass Monroe is heartbroken this time – is the understatement of the century.

“Then I wouldn’t be here. Never would’ve been able to hurt Charlotte.”

Miles is surprised and nearly flinches when Bass suddenly turns and looks at him, his blue eyes dark and filled with tears and deep remorse.

“I hurt her,” he says again.

Miles shakes his head and clasps a firm, reassuring hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “No, you didn’t. I’m telling you. She’s hurt, sure, but not because of you. She loves you, Bass. And she’s really worried about you.”

Bass goes back to staring at the floor, Miles’s words seeming to pass right through him. “They way she looked at me….”

“Bass, I’m telling you. She loves you,” Miles says more firmly, hoping with everything in him that Bass actually hears him. “She was just confused and shocked. That’s a lot to take in. For anyone. Even someone as strong as Charlie.”

But all he gets in return is silence and more absentminded staring.

“Look, we’re both thinking it, so I’m just gonna say it. Rachel’s a stone-cold bitch,” Miles admits, half hoping his statement will lighten the mood, even if infinitesimally.

It doesn’t. Once again, his words seem to have no impact on Bass.

Still, Miles continues. “What happened was all Rachel. Not you. And Charlie is mad at Rachel. _Not_ at you.”

“I’m so tired, Miles,” Bass speaks almost robotically. “I wanted to kill that bitch. I did. I’ve never wanted to kill her…or _anyone_ that bad. But I’m just…tired.”

“I know, brother. We all are.”

Bass closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall. “I can’t fight anymore. I just don’t have it in me. Got no reason to fight anymore, anyway. The one I was fighting for got hurt. I hurt her.”

“No, you didn’t,” a third voice interrupts them.

Miles and Bass both look up, startled, and find Charlie suddenly standing there. How and when she came inside and how long she’s been there…Miles has no idea, but there she is.

Miles sucks in a painful breath and holds it while watching his niece. Her eyes are fixed solely on Bass, and she looks broken and nervous but also relieved.

“Charlotte,” Bass barely whispers, his shocked, guilt-ridden eyes trailing up to meet hers before quickly dropping back down to the floor.

Miles watches for a while longer and then finally, slowly, peels himself up off the floor. His gaze meets Charlie’s, and he briefly nods at her.

She doesn’t respond, but her expression confirms that she understands: Bass isn’t exactly okay, but he will be. With her help.

Miles doesn’t speak as he walks past Charlie, taking one last look at the two broken people in front of him. He loves them both. And he hates to see them in so much anguish. But he has to believe that they’ll pull through this. Together.

He quietly sighs and takes his leave.

 

***

 

She so desperately wants him to look at her. But he doesn’t. He just stares at the floor, his expression hollow and lifeless.

Part of her wants to climb into his lap so she can hold him and let him know that she doesn’t hate him. She needs him to know that she loves him. That she needs him. That she’s lonely without him. But part of her is too scared to even touch him. He looks so fragile and weak – which is an extremely unusual sight for him.

The air around them grows heavier by the second, and Charlie finds it hard to breathe. She feels terribly lost. Every bone in her body aches. Her feet feel like they’re glued to the floor. She has no idea what to do. No idea what to say.    

So she just watches him. And waits. For what, exactly? She doesn’t know.

 

***

 

He refuses to look at her. He knows if he does, he’ll break completely. Not because she’s angry (she’s not). Not because she hates him (she doesn’t). But because she loves him and wants him. Still. He can feel the unconditional love silently rolling off of her and seeping right into his blackened soul, and it scares the hell out of him.

It’s such a strong, unrelenting love, so intense and real and pure that it should awaken everything inside of him and drive him to fix what’s broken between them.

Instead, it paralyzes him. Makes him feel worse. Makes him feel guiltier. How can she still want him? After everything he’s done, how can she still love him?

He’s so deeply consumed by his own thoughts and overwhelming feelings of self-hatred that he doesn’t even notice when she walks over and sits down next to him. He wants to tell her to go away, but he can’t. He’s so tired. So, so tired.

He quietly shudders when she unexpectedly reaches over and takes the whiskey bottle from his hand. He never bothers to make eye contact with her but can see from his peripheral when she presses it to her lips and tips it back for a sip.

Then she scoots closer until they’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. He doesn’t pull away. But he still doesn’t turn to look at her, either.

 

_You’ve held your head up_

_You’ve fought the fight_

_You bear the scars_

_You’ve done your time_

_Listen to me_

_You’ve been lonely_

_Too long…._

 

They just sit there, in silence, for what feels like an eternity. It’s not a comfortable silence. But it’s not painful, either.

 

***

 

Charlie’s skin begins to warm as the alcohol starts to do its work. Her nerves finally subdue a little, and for the moment, her inhibitions and fears stop trying to eat her alive.

That’s when she places the now-empty whiskey bottle aside and reaches for Bass’s left hand. She fully expects him to yank it back, but he doesn’t. He just lets her interlock her fingers with his but keeps his hand limp and uninterested. Once again, his eyes don’t meet hers.

But at least he’s not pulling away. That has to count for something, she decides.

She uses her free hand to touch his left forearm. Her fingers tingle as they trace his rough skin. Her index finger timidly brushes the bubbly skin of the burn that now covers his old tattoo. She holds her breath for a second. Then she lets it out when, again, he doesn’t pull away.

Her eyes slowly scan their connected hands, then their touching arms, then their touching shoulders, and then, finally, his face. His eyes are a deep, sorrowful shade of blue; he’s completely lost in thought, seeming unaware of her presence entirely.

She shivers. She’s never seen him this distraught.

“You should go, Charlotte.”

Charlie shivers again and feels her stomach flip. She hadn’t realized how silent the room was until he has broken it.

“Go,” he says it louder this time, “before I hurt you more.”

She squeezes his hand. “No. Bass—”

“You were right,” he interjects in a tired, lifeless whisper. “You said it would end. It always ends….” 

“It doesn’t have to end.” She drops his hand and grabs his face with both hands, forcing him to look at her. His eyes still look hazy and vacant, but at least he’s now focused in her direction. “It’s not going to end, okay? We promised each other that. Remember? You and me?”

He’s looking at her now…but still not _at_ her. He seems to be trapped in some other mental dimension. “This always happens.”

“What always happens?”

“Today it was your mom. Tomorrow it’ll be…something else. It’s always something….”

“Stop it. Please, Bass.” She knows she’s begging. “We can get through this. I’m sorry if I pulled away earlier.”

“Why are you sorry?” He’s still looking through her. “I hurt you.”

“ _No_ , you didn’t. You didn’t.”

“I hurt everyone, Charlotte. Especially the people I love. It was better when I just went around killing—”

Charlie doesn’t let him finish. She pulls his face down and crashes her lips onto his.

He doesn’t respond.

So she kisses him harder, tasting his salty, tear-soaked lips.

He still doesn’t respond. But neither does he pull away.

 

_Let me in the wall you’ve built around_

_We can light a match and burn them down_

_And let me hold your hand and dance ‘round and ‘round the flames_

_In front of us_

_Dust to dust_

 

Charlie feels the deepest sense of relief when he finally kisses her back. His lips and movements are rather reticent at first, as if he’s afraid to break her, but they give her just the tiniest shred of hope that they’ll get through this.

Her lips don’t leave his as she pushes his legs down and maneuvers herself into his lap, straddling him in one, fluid motion. Her hands find his shoulders, and she smiles against his mouth when he instinctively wraps his fingers around her hips.

She deepens the kiss, and Bass doesn’t stop her. She licks the seam of his lips until he eventually parts them and lets her tongue inside. His mouth is warm and familiar and tastes like whiskey and unsaid promises.

Finally, after some relentless probing on Charlie’s part, they fall into a familiar rhythm, both of them giving and taking from one another. Charlie feels alive again as her tongue fervently duels with Bass’s. His lips hungrily move against hers. Their hands dig into each other’s skin, and they both succumb to all the pain and hurt and frustration and desire that they’ve kept bottled up inside of them for far too long. It’s heated and angry and passionate and raw.

And Charlie feels hopeful. They’ll get through this. She knows they’ll get through this.

 

_You’re like a mirror, reflecting me_

_Takes one to know one_

_So take it from me_

_You’ve been lonely_

_You’ve been lonely_

_Too long_

_We’ve been lonely_

_We’ve been lonely_

_Too long_

 

Charlie moans disappointedly when Bass breaks the kiss. But she’s certain he only did it because they both are in desperate need of air.

She can still feel his breath against her lips. Her chest rises and falls in hard, shallow pants, and her heart flutters when he leans his forehead against hers and gently massages each of her earlobes with his sword-calloused fingers.

He doesn’t say anything and keeps his eyes closed. But she’s okay with that. At least for now. She can already tell he’s coming back to his senses.

She leans in and gives him another kiss, this one being soft and quick. Then suddenly, she becomes overwhelmed by her urge to have him open his eyes. It’s not just a shallow urge; she _needs_ him to open his eyes. She needs to look into them, and she needs him to look into hers.

Time stops and the world seems to stop spinning on its axis when he finally does what her heart desires most. His blue irises come into view and connect with hers, and this time, they really connect. Not like before, when he was emptily looking through her. This time, he’s there, fully present, looking right into her soul in a way that only he can do.

Neither of them disturb the silence with words. Words aren’t necessary. They simply stare at each other for a long time, making all kinds of unspoken promises to one another in a language that only they understand.

‘ _You and me_ ,’ Charlie tells him.

‘ _You and me_ ,’ he silently agrees.  

Then he kisses her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced in this chapter is "Dust to Dust" by The Civil Wars. This is one of the best songs for Charloe, and if for any reason you guys haven't seen the Charloe fanvids that exist for this song, go look them up on YouTube like right now. Also...leave a review! Please! :D


	17. After the Storm

He continues to kiss her until their lips and movements turn frantic, and the need to be closer suddenly becomes unbearable for both of them. Their hands instantly snap into action and work swiftly to remove the clothing that separates their need-riddled bodies.

Bass doesn’t even bother to remove all of Charlie’s clothes. He yanks off her left boot, then simply undoes her belts and pushes down her jeans until they’re a puddle of crumpled fabric at her still-booted right ankle.

She shakes out of her left pant leg and then seems to have the same idea for him. Leaving his shirt exactly where it is, her nimble fingers go straight to his jeans; she quickly unfastens his belt, then unsnaps and unzips his jeans, and a mischief grin forms on her lips when she pushes his pants down, allowing his thick, engorged cock to spring free from its previous denim prison.

He doesn’t bother kicking off his boots. Nor does he bother stepping out of his jeans. He doesn’t have time for that shit. He needs to be inside her. Now.   

He grabs Charlie’s bare ass and deftly lifts her up, then practically slams her into the wall behind them, her still-clothed back hitting the cold, hard surface. She yelps and digs her fingernails into his shoulders, and if it hadn’t been for the shirt he’s still wearing, he’s positive there would be marks. He grunts and pushes her legs apart with his knee, using his thigh to trap her between the wall and himself.

Bass palms her naked mound and smirks, happy to find her moist and totally ready for him. Then he reaches between them and grabs his rigid dick that’s already throbbing for her. He teases her slit with his head, and she lets out a strangled, unintelligible gripe while thrusting her pelvis forward, toward him, wordlessly begging him to enter her.

He bends his knees a little, bracing his position, lining himself up at her creamy, waiting center, and then plunges in hard. The sound of her lustful hissing consumes him as he begins to thrust into her.

This isn’t slow, sweet lovemaking. This isn’t tentative touching or attentive, reverent worship of one another’s bodies. This is adrenaline and hours of pent up frustration; it’s a desperate longing to forget the pain of the past and a pure, primal, animalistic need to become one...all forging together in an intensely passionate, almost violent act of physicality.

He slams into her again and again, hard and hasty, his tip hitting her cervix over and over with each forceful motion. The poor girl most likely won’t be able to walk when they’re done here, but if her frequent moans and matched pelvic thrusting are any indication, she wants this – at this exact speed, with this exact tenacity – just as much as he does.

Without warning, he hooks his fingers under her left knee and throws her calf over his right shoulder, creating a new angle that allows for even deeper penetration.

“Oh, fuck,” Charlie throatily cries out in response.

Bass chuckles under his breath and continues to drive into her, his dick repeatedly retreating and then disappearing into her warm, velvety depths. Her limbs are so flexible, so pliable, and her pussy is so wet and tight and young. He can’t get enough.

“Oh, god. Charlotte!” It’s his turn to gasp and hiss when she reaches down and suddenly strokes his balls.

He was almost at his peaking point anyway, but he feels himself instantly tighten, now undoubtedly ready to explode. Shit. He’s not going to have enough time to pull out.

But before he can even try, her legs encircle his waist completely. Her eyes meet his, and her gaze says it all. She wants him to come inside her.

This time, he doesn’t bother protesting, doesn’t ask if she’s sure, and instead slams his mouth into hers – a half-effective attempt to muffle both their cries – while emptying his seed directly into her heat. She’s right there with him, contracting all around him and greedily sucking him dry.

Just a few, slow, final thrusts, and then Bass reaches behind and unwraps her legs from his waist, letting her slide to her feet, before pulling out of her.

She closes her eyes and leans her head against the wall. She swallows harshly and pants for air while threading her fingers through her stringy blonde hair.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “That was…wow.”

He snickers between labored breaths. “Uh…yeah.”

She slowly opens her eyes and looks at him. Her face is flushed, skin glistening with sweat, eyes impossibly blue. “I don’t like when we’re mad at each other, but if the make up sex is gonna be like _that_ , then….”

“Hey, if you want it rough, all you gotta do is ask. No prerequisite fighting necessary,” he chuckles.

“Well…alright then.” She nods cheekily.

He leans down and places a playful kiss against her lips. God, he loves her. And she loves him. And they’re going to be okay.

They dress quietly and grab their weapons, finally ready to leave the storm cellar, but Bass notices the way Charlie lingers around and doesn’t make a move toward the stairs.

She’s standing there, busily examining her fingernails when he finally asks, “You okay?”

“Huh?” Her head shoots up and she nervously looks at him. Then her face softens, and she nods. “I think so.”

He smiles at her. She’s all flushed and beautiful. She always looks beautiful, but she looks especially beautiful after sex. He has to consciously push aside the sudden urge to rip her clothes off and take her all over again.

“I just…” she sighs and fails to finish her statement.

Bass walks closer and takes her hand. He presses his lips to her knuckles and never breaks eye contact, silently encouraging her to go on.

“I don’t really want to see my mom.”

“Yeah, well…that makes two of us.”

His comment causes her to chuckle, and he can’t help but do the same.

He knows they have still have a long road ahead of them, but at least they’re both on the same page now. Rachel might have tried her hardest to destroy what they have; she might have even succeeded for a moment or two; but the worst is ultimately over now, and they’re both still standing, both standing together.

Charlie inhales and exhales a long, steady breath and then squares her shoulders. “Ok. Let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bass drawls and follows her lead.

She barely makes it up two steps before she stops and winces.

“What? What’s wrong?” He’s at her side in a second, worriedly looking her over for whatever it is that caused her to wince.

She blushes and gives him a dirty look. “Yeah, _now_ you’re all of a sudden concerned. Jackass.”

“What?” He feigns innocence, but the smug smirk that’s tugging at his lips doesn’t particularly help his cause. “Hey, back there, you said you liked it rough.”

Charlie rolls her eyes and punches him in the arm.

 

\- - -

 

Miles rolls his eyes and groans under his breath when he hears them approaching.

 _‘God, could they possibly be any louder?’_ He mentally complains.

He’d expect this type of carelessness from Aaron. Or Gene. Or even Rachel, really.

But Bass and Charlie? Of all people?

It’s bad enough that they’re together, but if this whole new romantic situation is going to turn his two best fighters into a couple of bumbling, love-drunk morons, Miles is certain he’ll lose his shit all together. He’s barely hanging on as it is. Without his sidekicks, he’ll be totally screwed.

“Will you two shut the fuck up and get over here? I could hear you from a mile away!” He barks out in a harsh whisper from his hiding spot on the ground. He’s so fucking tired of lying out on this godforsaken cliff, constantly spying on the Patriots.

“Sorry, Miles,” Charlie giggles and lowers herself onto the ground beside him till she’s lying flat on her stomach.

Bass follows suit and lies down on the other side of Charlie.

Miles wrinkles his nose and warily narrows his eyes at them. “God…you two smell like sex.”

Charlie immediately blushes and bites her bottom lip, looking away as quickly as she can, while Bass smiles directly at Miles like the smug bastard that he is.

Miles incoherently curses under his breath, suddenly wanting to throw up – or murder Bass for defiling his niece. But instead, he just brings his binoculars back up to his eyes and stares out over the cliff.

“So, what’d we miss?” Bass asks, the smile in his voice unmasked.

Miles lowers the binoculars and looks over at his old friend. The man is practically giddy. He’s also entirely distracted and so busy flirting with Charlie that Miles could probably tell him the gravest news in the world (not that he actually has that kind of news to deliver; at least, not at the moment), and Bass probably wouldn’t even notice.

Miles looks over at Charlie. Her condition’s no better. She can’t stop looking at Bass. Can’t stop smiling at him. Can’t stop touching him. Can’t stop giggling at him.

They’re like a pair of horny teenagers. Or newlyweds who just got back from their honeymoon.

Miles suddenly feels like jumping off the cliff. Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself. But if he’s genuinely honest with himself, he’s actually a little amused and maybe even a little happy.

Okay, fine, so if he’s totally honest, he’s really happy. Because his family is happy. And these days, that’s not something that happens very often.

 

\- - -

 

The Patriots’ typhus situation continues to worsen. Every day, a new handful of Willoughby residents come down with the virus. Rachel spends all of her time in the quarantine camp helping Gene with the patients. She occasionally sends word to Miles in random notes or other secret messages if she thinks she has a lead on where on the vaccine might be, but so far, she hasn’t been right about any of it.

At first, Charlie appreciates the distance from her mother and revels in her newfound freedom to openly be with Bass (Miles still constantly acts like he hates their PDA, of course, but Charlie’s no idiot; she’s caught him endearingly smirking at them a few times when he thought they weren’t paying attention). But then the abandonment issues start to rear their ugly head, and she finds herself feeling bitter and upset that her mother is, yet again, ignoring her.

Charlie tries to tell herself that it’s for the best…at least for now; she’s also aware that Miles told her mom to stay away for a while. But deep down, Charlie burns with hate and anger over the fact that her mother seems to have other priorities in life. She can spend all her time helping a bunch of strangers who are only going through what they’re going through because she turned the fucking power off fifteen years ago; meanwhile, her relationship with her daughter is disintegrating even more. And she doesn’t even seem to care.

It’s all one, big, fucked up mess, really. And Charlie’s not sure she even wants to see her mother. But she still hates that Rachel isn’t even trying to fix what’s broken. Just an ounce of effort might be enough to heal Charlie’s heart, even if partially, but her mother can’t even give her that. Apparently, she’s not worth the effort. 

Charlie is lost in her gloomy thoughts, eyes vacuously staring into the campfire around which she currently sits, when Bass walks up and sits down next to her. 

He nudges her shoulder with his own, breaking her from her musings, and she responds with a tired smile.

“You alright?” He asks.

She nods. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“About…?”

“Just…stuff. Doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head in an attempt to clear it. “Anyway, what’s up?”

He takes her hand and threads his fingers in between hers. “I’m thinking about taking a little…how shall I say it? Business trip. Of sorts.”

Her forehead crinkles as she lifts her eyebrows. “A business trip?” She repeats skeptically.

He smirks. “Yeah. Miles would rather we all sit around for God knows how much longer while these Patriot douches hand our asses over to us. And, as much fun as _that’s_ been, I’m over it. If we’re seriously gonna win this thing, we need more fighters. And I know where to find some.”

Charlie suddenly has a very bad feeling about this. She has no idea why, but she just does. She frowns at him, already disliking whatever stupid plan he’s about to present to her.

“It’s good help,” he simply says.

She pulls her hand out of his and crosses her arms. “Fine. Maybe it is.”

“It is.”

She rolls her eyes. He can be so difficult when he wants to be.

But then again, so can she. “So then…fine. Let’s go get your help.”

“ _Let’s_?” He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, no, no, no…you’re not coming with me.”

“And you’re not going alone. So yes, I _am_ coming with you.”

“Damn it, Charlotte.” Bass leans his head back and groans. “That’s not what I was trying to—”

“I don’t care what you were trying to say,” she cuts him off. “If you’re going on some… _business trip_ , then you’re taking me with you.”

He stops talking and looks at her for a while, his expression cynical and irritated…and perhaps a little turned on. But he doesn’t say anything.

She just smiles at him – eyes haughty, teeth on display. She knows he hates that, which is why she does it in the first place. Also, because she knows he secretly loves it. He’s always loved her feisty attitude and her ability to put up with his constant bullshit.

Bass shakes his head and pushes his fingers through his hair. “Well, then, go pack. We leave for New Vegas first thing in the morning.”

“Great.” She smirks and stands, quite proud of herself for winning their little debate. But then it hits her, and her smile fades. “Did you just…say New Vegas?”

Now he’s the one with the accomplished, knowing smirk on his face. “Yup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my goal is to wrap this up in maybe two of three more chapters, but I'm still finalizing my outline, so we'll see how it goes. Thanks again to everyone who's still here, reading, reviewing, leaving kudos, and just showing general interest in this fic. I appreciate each and every one of you! Please continue to review!! xoxo


	18. No Matter What

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more plot heavy than it is Charloe-heavy, but hopefully it sets things up for the ending. This will either get one more chapter and an epilogue or two more chapters. Thanks again to everyone who has stuck with me! Please continue to leave comments. They are great motivation for me. :)

Miles hears the soft thumping of distant footsteps and immediately places his hand on the grip of his sword. For just a moment, a rush of excitement races through his veins at the prospect of a fight. He hasn’t fought anyone in a while. Lately, all he’s been doing is lying on this stupid cliff. Day in and day out.

It’s getting beyond old.

“Miles….”

He sighs in both disappointment and relief and lets go of his sword. His intruder isn’t even an intruder.

He turns and watches as Rachel approaches. She looks exhausted and worried.

They haven’t been speaking much lately, not since the emotional explosion that happened with Charlie and Bass. But Miles is mostly okay with that. Quite frankly, he is still furious at Rachel.

At the same time, he knows the only way they’ll beat this typhus outbreak is if they put aside their issues and work together, which is what they’ve been trying to do for the past few days. Miles genuinely hopes that once things have settled down for a bit, they can actually start to work through their other issues. As pissed as he is, he still loves Rachel and wants to see things resolved with their family.

Rachel lies down beside him, and it’s not until she’s next to him that he notices the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“What’s going on?” He asks, suddenly worried. Rachel isn’t much of a crier, so whenever this happens, it usually means things have gone from bad to worse.

“They dosed him, Miles. Those sons of bitches….” Her words are weak and hollow with grief and confusion.

“Dosed who?” He questions, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. Look at me. What happened?”

New tears slide down her cheeks. Her bottom lip quivers as she tries to contain her sorrow.

“Rachel, what’s going on? Who got dosed?”

She breathes back a sob and swipes the back of her hand under her eyes. “My dad.”

Miles feels his heart sink.

Great. Just. Fucking. Great. Just what they need.

He sighs and slowly sits up.  “Come here.”

Rachel follows suit and quickly accepts Miles’s waiting arms. She tucks her head into the crook of his neck and sighs before finally giving in to her emotions.

Miles silently holds her for a quite some time.

He hates this.

He’s still furious with her, but he also knows she needs him. He also knows he loves her. As fucked up as Rachel is at times and as bitchy as she’s been lately, he can’t control what his heart feels for her. She’s beautiful and smart and can do so much good in the world if she just makes that choice. And he knows she’s capable of making that choice. She just needs some guidance, perhaps.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He strokes her hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

“I can’t lose him, Miles,” she sobs hysterically into his neck. 

He tightens his arms around her. “Don’t talk like that, okay? We’ll figure out a way to save him. Besides, he’s a fighter. He’ll get through this.”

Rachel pulls back and looks at him, the rims of her eyes red, swollen, and wet. “We _need_ to find that vaccine.”

“Uh…yeah.” Miles smiles sadly. He then notices the hesitation on Rachel’s face. There’s obviously something more she’s not telling him. “What else is on your mind?”  

She frowns, her hesitation growing more apparent with each passing second.

“Rachel….”

Finally, she says, “I want to talk to Charlie.”

Miles tries not to groan. He should have known that was coming.

“Where is she, Miles?”

He doesn’t answer and spends a good, long moment searching Rachel’s eyes. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw such a strong level of sincere brokenness in her face.

Maybe she’s actually sorry. Maybe her dad’s condition has made her realize the importance of fixing things between her and her daughter.

Still, he feels conflicted and torn. He can’t shake the image of Charlie’s heartbroken frown from a few days ago. Rachel’s bitter words to her still ring inside his head, and every time he thinks of them, he wants to do whatever it takes to keep the two women he loves more than anything else in this world as far away from each other as he possibly can. That’s the only guarantee he has of them not hurting each other anymore.

But he knows that can’t go on forever. Eventually, they’ll have to face each other and address what happened. And eventually, Rachel will have to accept that Bass and Charlie’s relationship is real and not likely to end any time soon…if ever. 

Miles tucks a lock of hair behind Rachel’s ear.

“Where is she?” Rachel repeats, sounding genuinely desperate and broken this time.

Miles exhales slowly. “She’s not here right now.”

“Is she with him?”

“Yeah. She is.”

Pain instantly flashes across Rachel’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. You have to believe me, Miles. But she’s making a huge mistake, and I just can’t lose another child to _him_.”

Miles tucks more hair behind her ear. “Listen, I’m about to say something that you’re not going to like, but you need to relax and just hear me out, okay?”

Rachel quietly nods, her face a convoluted mix of unidentifiable emotions. 

“You gotta let her do…what she’s doing.”

Her frame defensively stiffens, but she doesn’t speak.

Miles watches her closely for a while, trying to read her expression. But his efforts are in vain. So he simply continues. “I know you think she’s just doing this because it’s her way of getting back at you…and you’re worried that he’s gonna hurt her. I thought that at first, too. But I’ve seen them together, and they really care about each other.”

“But he’s….” She begins to argue, but then her words trail off. She’s clearly too tired to fight.

“Are _we_ really in a position to tell two people who they can or can’t love?”

Rachel closes her eyes and suddenly looks irritated. “You actually think they’re in love?”

“Not a single doubt in my mind.” Miles knows he’s pouring salt on the wound, but Rachel needs to wake up and realize the facts, whether she likes them or not.

Her blue eyes slowly flutter open, and she frowns. “I know I haven’t been a good mom to Charlie. And I know she thinks I'm doing this to hurt her, but I can’t just sit here and watch her destroy her life.”

Miles purses his lips together. “Rach, her life was destroyed a long time ago, when her parents decided to shut the damned power off.”

Rachel begins to pull out of his embrace, but he stops her.

“I know you don’t want to hear that, but that’s just the truth,” he says. “Charlie’s just trying to make sense of the world as it is. Which…let’s face it…is pretty fucked up.”

She breathes out an impatient breath. “I want her to be happy, but—”

“But what? So she found happiness with Bass. How’s that any different from us finding happiness with each other?”

Rachel frowns hard. “What we have _is_ different.”

“Why?” Miles nearly chuckles. “Why’s it any different?”

She doesn’t reply and stares at the ground.

Miles untangles himself from her and cautiously stands to his feet. Then he helps her up. “Look, let’s forget about all of that for a while and go find this fucking antidote for your dad and everyone else. Charlie will be back in a few days, and then we can figure this other shit out. Okay?”

“Fine,” Rachel agrees in defeat.

She’s still angry and unconvinced, but for some reason, Miles feels hopeful that everything will somehow work out.

 

\- - -

 

“What is that?” Charlie’s face becomes clouded with worry as she points toward the glowing horizon.

It’s evening and well past sunset, but there’s a strange, yellowish glow burning in the distance. It looks like a massive bonfire, but it’s far enough away that she’s not entirely sure.

She and Bass have been on the road for a couple of days and haven’t quite reached the half-way point in their journey. Charlie’s not sure where they are, exactly.  All she knows is that they’re north of Texas and somewhere in the Plains Nation.

Bass’s eyes follow her finger until he, too, sees the weird, golden light in the distance. The worry and caution on his face matches Charlie’s. “Let’s move out of the open. Closer to the trees. It could be a war clan…and not the one we’re looking for.”

She nods and follows his lead toward cover.

 

\- - -  

 

Rachel’s eyes fill with tears as she stares down at her ill father. She slowly sits down on the edge of his cot and takes his hand in hers. “Dad. Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?”

Gene’s face is clammy and flushed with fever. He weakly shakes his head; then his entire frame begins to shake as he succumbs to a coughing fit.

Rachel squeezes his hand. She can’t bear to see him like this. “Shh…Dad, just…try to relax.”

Gene gasps for breath for a few moments, but then his breathing finally levels out. “Where’s Charlie?” He barely whispers, leaning into the limp pillow behind his head.

Rachel’s brow scrunches together. “She’s…not here right now. She went with Monroe.”

“Rachel.” Gene faintly tightens his grasp around her fingers.

“What is it, Dad?” She tries to smile, but even the curve of her lips doesn’t mask her sadness.

“Don’t push her away,” Gene croaks out. “She needs her mother.”

“Dad,” Rachel whispers back. But she really doesn’t know what else to say.

“Life is short. For us, even shorter….”

“Don’t say stuff like that. You’re gonna be fine. We’ll find the antidote, and then you’ll get better, and—”

“Sweetheart, stop.” Gene tries to suppress the next coughing fit that begins to threaten his lungs.

Rachel places a hand on his chest and holds back her tears.

“Listen to me,” Gene says. “Just listen, okay?”

She nods in silence.

“I used to hate Miles. More than anyone. And when he showed up here with you, I wanted to kill him.”

“Dad.” Rachel frowns.

“I even told him that he was…the wrong guy for you.”

Rachel feels a sudden pang of guilt in her gut. However, she silently listens.

“The thing is, sweetheart. Parents don’t always know what’s right…or wrong…or best for their children. We want to. God, we want to. And we try our best and even convince ourselves that we know what’s best. But there comes a point where we have to let go and let them do what they have to do.”

Rachel continues to listen in silence, her eyes not meeting her father’s.

“I honestly had convinced myself that warding Miles off was the best thing for you. And for Charlie. But you know what?”

Rachel stares at her and her dad’s connected hands. “What?”

“I was wrong.” Gene pauses for a moment. “You have to let Charlie grow up. You have to let her make her own choices.”

“Even when I know she’s walking straight into a trap?”

“See, but that’s just it. You don’t know if she’s walking into a trap. Right?”

She doesn’t respond.

“You can’t protect Charlie forever, Rachel. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I really wanted to keep you away from Miles.”

“You said that already.”

“Yeah, and then I realized it’s not my place. It never was. You’re a grown woman. You’re gonna make your own choices. You gotta let Charlie do the same, even when you don’t agree with her.”

Rachel sighs dismally. Everyone keeps talking to her about choices lately, and she hates it.

“Just be there for her. Let her know you love her without any strings attached. You already lost a lot of time with her, Rachel. Don’t lose any more. And like I was saying…we don’t have that much time left, anyway. We live in a rough world, sweetheart. We have to hold on to each other and be there for each other, no matter what.”

Rachel feels a chill race down her spine. Her dad’s words are far too reminiscent of Miles’s.

She offers him another sad smile. “You know, Miles says said the same thing.”

Gene quietly chuckles. “See? Behind all that smartass grouchiness, he does have a heart...and a wise one, at that.”

This time, Rachel actually laughs. She leans down and hugs Gene’s feverish frame.

“But I’m serious. You should listen to him, Rach. Be there for your daughter. Don’t let another day go by with things being out of sorts between you two. You girls are all I’ve got, and I can’t stand to see you two fighting anymore.”

Rachel quietly nods against his frame. “Miles is gonna find that antidote. And then everything will be better. You’ll get to see Charlie again, and we’ll fix this. I’ll fix this.”

He pats her on the back. “I sure hope so.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, honey.”

 

\- - -

 

“What are you doing?” Charlie hisses and grabs Bass’s hand when he gets up and attempts to head toward the group they’ve been spying on.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “I know them.”

“What?” Her nostrils flare and her eyes widen with worry and disbelief. “What do you mean you know them? Since when?”

“I know them.” He shrugs and walks in their direction.

Charlie groans and follows.

The yellow glow from earlier was indeed a fire, and it belonged to a group of battered up vagabonds who have spent the last hour or so moving across the plain. Charlie and Bass have been spying on them from a safe distance, and now Bass has suddenly announced that he knows them.

Charlie’s heart beats hard as they both walk out into the open. And it takes mere seconds before there are guns and arrows trained on them.

Bass lifts his hands up, signaling that they’re not a threat. “We don’t want any trouble!”

Charlie repeats his gesture and notices the way the group murmurs amongst themselves.

Finally, a blond-haired man with pale blue eyes approaches. “Hey…you’re Monroe, aren’t you?” He briefly shouts over his shoulder at his men: “Lower your weapons!”

The rest of the group quickly does as they’re told, and Charlie sighs in relief.

“That’s right.” Bass nods and lowers his arms. “And you’re…Duncan Page’s men?”

“What’s the left of us,” the man bitterly clarifies and reaches out his hand. “I’m Scanlon…their acting leader, I suppose.”

Bass shakes his hand and briefly scans the rest of the group. “What happened? Where’s Duncan? And why are you guys out here, in the middle of nowhere?”

Scanlon glances down at his boots for a second, then looks back up at Bass, his blue eyes glowing with fury. “Those dicks in kaki…they destroyed everything. New Vegas is a fucking tomb.”

Bass’s jaw flexes. “And Duncan? Where is she?”

“She’s…dead.”

Bass runs a hand through his hair and stares back at Charlie.

She instantly notes the anger in his face.

“I saw it happen myself,” Scanlon goes on. “She fought like hell, but there was only so much she could do. And those sick sons of bitches made a brutal spectacle out of the whole damned thing, like it was some kind of warning for the rest of us. And then they had the fucking audacity to feed us some bullshit line about needing to civilize the Plains Nation. They need to pay. We have to make them pay.”

“We will.” Bass clasps a hand on Scanlon’s shoulder. “Believe it or not, we were just on our way here to find you. We were hoping you’d want to fight the Patriots with us.”

The man nods curtly.

“Those bastards are doing all kind of damage in Texas,” Bass explains. “But with your help, we can take ‘em down. Get the revenge you deserve. For Duncan and the others.”

“These guys…they’re all good men. We all know how to fight hard, but we’re tired, and we need a good leader. I make a damned good Indian, but I’m no chief. But you…well, we’ve heard all the stories about you, General. ”

Charlie notices that Bass doesn’t even flinch or hesitate at the mention of General Monroe. It causes a certain uneasiness to stir in her gut.

Scanlon continues. “It would be our honor to fight alongside of you, sir.”

Bass smiles, and his smile is dark and sinister.

Charlie quietly shudders as she watches him. The road to revenge can be such a slippery slope, and it was that exact road that led him to some extremely dark places in the past. She briefly wonders if this is the beginning of a return journey to that darkness. She really wants to believe it’s not, that Bass has changed for the better, once and for all, but the more she thinks about it, the more Charlie realizes she really doesn’t know the answer to that question.

What she does know is that she loves him and will stand by his side, no matter what. She has to believe that their love is strong enough to keep him from slipping into a place he won’t ever be able to come back from.

In fact, she refuses to believe anything else.


	19. Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies! Here's the last official chapter. But there will be an epilogue (with a time jump), so don't get mad at me that things are left kind of open-ended, lol.

Bass glances over his shoulder at his new entourage.

He wasn’t able to get nearly as many men as he had hoped for, and the ones he’s been fortunate enough to get are much rougher around the edges than his former militia members, but they’re a high-spirited bunch with an insatiable desire to take down the Patriots. And they’re willing to do just about whatever Bass asks, no questions asked. A little training is all they need, and they’ll be a well-equipped army in no time. For once, Bass feels optimistic about the situation at hand. Maybe they actually can win this thing.

A smile forms on his lips when he notices Charlie. She’s a few paces behind him, leisurely walking along with a man named Vincent. She’s laughing hysterically as Vincent entertains her by singing old Michael Jackson songs that she’s clearly never heard before.  

Bass slows down his pace till he’s at her side. Ever since they met up with Duncan’s men, he’s been spending most of his time up front with Scanlon, leading the pack and strategizing for their return to Willoughby. He and Charlie really haven’t gotten much time together lately. And he hates that.

But Charlie’s been extremely sporting about the whole thing and has quickly befriended their new companions. They’ve taken an instant liking to her as well, which, every now and again, causes Bass’s jealousy to flare up when one of the guys looks at her the wrong way. But Charlie, to his relief, only seems to have eyes for him. Regardless, he never misses a chance to rub it in the other guys’ faces that she is his.  

Their group is on the outskirts of Willoughby now, and their journey back has been pleasantly easy – no real trouble or surprise attacks from the Patriots or other neighboring war clans.

“Hey.” Charlie smiles when Bass approaches, his steps synchronizing with hers.

“Hey yourself.” He wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side as they walk. “Looks like you’re having fun with Earth, Wind and Fire back here?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Earth, Wind and Fire?”

“Never mind,” he chuckles. Sometimes, he legitimately forgets that his pre-blackout references mean absolutely nothing to her. “They’re an old disco/funk group from the 70s,” he explains.

She slips her hand into the back pocket of his jeans and thoughtfully tilts her head toward him. “I have no idea what disco/funk is, but…sure. I’m having fun. Vincent’s got quite the voice.”

“You better believe it!” Vincent hollers from behind.

Bass chuckles again and pulls Charlie closer.

“How’s everything going up front?” She asks, her eyes bright and hopeful.

“Not bad, to be honest. I think we might actually have a fighting chance with these guys.”

“Good.” She pulls him down and whispers into his ear, “By the way, I miss you…if you catch my drift.”

He feels her teasingly squeeze his ass and growls under his breath. “Mmm…yeah, I miss you, too. A lot.”

“Let’s sneak off somewhere for a bit.” Her voice is low and sultry, her breath tickling his ear. She leans up and playfully bites his earlobe.

He tightens his arm around her, pulling her even closer, and is just about to agree to her request when suddenly, all the guys around them pull out their weapons and freeze in firing mode.

“Damn it,” he groans and reluctantly lets go of Charlie. He reaches for his pistol.

Charlie does the same, her expression filled with dread and disappointment.

They both sigh in unison when Miles rounds the corner, gun in hand but arms raised in a non-threatening manner.

“Fucking cock block,” Bass grumbles under his breath.

His words aren’t lost on Charlie, though, because the next thing he knows, she’s quietly giggling.

“Stand down! He’s with us,” Bass quickly informs the guys and jogs over to Miles with Charlie following close behind.

The men silently lower their weapons.

“Well, congratulations.” Miles carefully eyes their ragtag team. Then he looks at Bass and chortles. “Apparently, you’re the new lead singer of The Village People.”

Bass smirks. “I brought help, didn’t I?”

Miles shrugs indifferently. “Everything go okay?”

“Not exactly…but we’re here. And these guys are more than ready to kick some Patriot ass.”

“Well, good, but before we start kicking anybody’s ass, I need your help getting some intel.”

Bass grins deviously and winks at Charlie. “Sounds like fun.”

 

\- - -

 

Things finally begin to change.

With Scanlon’s help, Miles and Bass find the typhus vaccine. Turns out, it was in Truman’s office the entire time. Gene is saved, along with many others, and this development causes a definite dent in the Patriots’ plans and efforts.

Charlie still isn’t sure what transpired between her family while she and Bass were on their way to New Vegas, but something has clearly shifted. Ever since they’ve been back, Miles and Bass have been getting along more and more each day, falling into a noticeably familiar rhythm of friendship and co-leadership that has Charlie’s mother silently seething and Charlie feeling more hopeful than she’s felt in a long time.

And Bass is doing much better. He’s reasonable in his decision-making and considerate this time, making him the very type of leader their new army wants to follow. The only time he’s a bit unhinged is when Rachel’s around, but Charlie can’t exactly blame him. Her mother has that effect on nearly everyone.

The dynamic between Miles and Rachel has undoubtedly changed as well. Miles seems to be his own person these days, primarily occupying himself with battle planning and training sessions with Bass as they prepare Duncan’s men for an all-out war against the Patriots. As a result, Miles spends far less of his time and energy wrapped around Rachel.

As far as Rachel and Charlie’s relationship goes, things are still strained. However, they’ve learned to maintain a safe distance and a certain level of civility whenever their paths do cross. Ultimately, Charlie does what she can to keep their paths from crossing too often and generally spends her time with Bass and her uncle and their new men.

Aaron Pittman finally makes a return from his mysterious trip to Spring City, Missouri, and he brings his former wife, Priscilla, with him. Priscilla is kind, if not a bit anti-social and distant at times, but Charlie is glad to see her old friend reunited with his love again. After everything that happened with Cynthia, Charlie is happy that Aaron once again has someone.

Charlie and Bass (mostly at Bass’s instigation) make a habit out of publically expressing their affection for each other whenever they’re in front of Aaron, who squirms and fidgets and groans like an embarrassed child every single time. Bass seems to get a kick out of it, and Charlie finds his amusement over such a stupid thing genuinely endearing. Having Aaron back provides some much-needed levity for their group.

Things, over all, are manageable – and sometimes even good, and they all (with the exception of Rachel) have little reason to complain.

After several days of brutal training, Bass decides to go on another _business trip_ , as he calls it, to find someone named Frank Blanchard, who, Charlie learns, is the retired President of Texas and perhaps the only man with some amount of influence left who might be willing to join their cause. And this time, Miles accompanies Bass on the journey.

Charlie isn’t thrilled about his leaving – this time, without her – but it helps that she gets along with Vincent and Scanlon and the others. It makes staying back that much easier.

She’s in the middle of an archery lesson with Vincent and a few of the others one afternoon when her mother unexpectedly approaches.

“Can we talk?” Rachel asks.

Charlie sets down her crossbow and sighs. “Take a break, guys. I’ll be right back.”

Mother and daughter walk off until they reach their new safe house – an old, long-abandoned coal gasification plant. They eventually climb a rusty staircase and sit down on the stairs, side by side.

Charlie crosses her arms and turns toward her mother. She’s not particularly interested in hearing whatever it is that Rachel has to say.

Rachel looks nervous as she stares down at her hands for a long moment, not saying a word.

“You wanted to talk. So…let’s talk,” Charlie coaxes after a while. “My guys are waiting for me.”

Rachel looks up, a pained, hesitant expression on her face.

Charlie’s eyebrows impatiently arch higher.

Finally, Rachel says, “I owe you an apology.”

‘ _Just one?_ ’ The sarcastic question instantly pops into Charlie’s mind. But she doesn’t utter it out load.

“I’m sorry, Charlie.”

A smirk threatens to spill past Charlie’s lips. It’s not a laughing matter in the least, but the hurt she feels in her heart runs so deep that she almost needs to laugh about it.

It’s a defense mechanism, really.

“Wow,” she eventually whispers.

Rachel frowns. “I know you don’t believe me, but I really am sorry.” She reaches up to stroke Charlie’s hair, but Charlie’s hand immediately goes up to block hers. Rachel frowns harder. “I never wanted us to get to this point.”

“Yet here we are.” Anger instantly bubbles inside Charlie’s heart.

She’s done. They’ve barely even talked, but she’s done.

She stands to her feet and begins to descend the stairs. “Good talk, Mom. But like I said. My guys are waiting for me.”

“Charlie, come on.” Rachel’s tone becomes anxious as she follows. “We can’t just avoid each other.”

Charlie indignantly glares back at her mother.

“I’m not…good at this. Okay?” Rachel admits.

“At apologizing?” Charlie snarks back, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “Yeah, I’ve sort of noticed.”

Rachel stops, too, and places a frustrated hand over her eyes. She huffs out a breath.

For whatever reason, her seemingly harmless gesture further irks Charlie. “See, here’s what I don’t get. You say all this stuff to me. Treat me like crap. _Constantly_. Treat Bass like crap. And then when I’m not willing to accept your apology with open arms on the first go, you start acting like _you’re_ the victim in this whole thing.”

Rachel’s mouth drops open as if she’s about to argue, but no words come out. She blankly stares back at her daughter and then closes her mouth.

“I don’t know what happened while I was gone, but this obviously isn’t coming from you.” Charlie continues. “I’d bet diamonds that Miles or Grandpa probably told you to apologize, so here you are. And because it’s not going the way you had hoped, you’re trying to turn this around on me. Just like you always do.”

Rachel’s eyes widen. “That’s not—”

“What?” Charlie challenges.

Rachel looks like she’s in pain. “Charlie, I just want you to be happy.”

“No, you don’t. You just want control. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“That’s not true. That’s never been true!”

Charlie can feel her blood angrily pumping through her veins. She hates this so much. She didn’t expect anything different, but she hates it all the same.

Rachel releases a defeated sigh. “I’m just…trying to do the right thing. For once.”

“Yeah, well…it’s a little too late for that.”

Rachel’s eyes angrily dart up.

Charlie smirks. She suddenly feels lighter. It’s not often that she’s able to say these things to her mother. She knows her words are hurtful, but she needs to get them out of her system. She’s held on to them for too long.

“Why him, Charlie? Why Monroe?” Rachel’s words come out in a tired whisper. She stares at the ground.

“Because he’s good,” Charlie simply answers. She pauses for a long time and waits for some sort of rebuttal from her mother. When there isn’t one, she continues. “He’s good for me, and he loves me. And I love him. And he’s trying really hard to be different…to be better. He’s building a fucking army, Mom, and he’s had every opportunity to become the exact same person I spent months hating. The one who kept you locked up for years. He could be that person again if he wanted to be. But he’s not that guy anymore. He’s changed.”

Once more, Charlie expects Rachel to say something in protest but is surprised when she doesn’t. Her mother just looks down at her shoes in tired defeat.

“I know you don’t believe me,” Rachel says after a while. “But I really do want you to be happy.”

“Well, then, stop acting like I’ve committed some crime by being with Bass. I love him, Mom. And he loves me. You want my happiness? He’s my happiness.”

Rachel finally drags her eyes back up to Charlie’s face. “How can we fix this? I’m not talking about Bass. I mean our relationship.”

Charlie shakes her head. “I don’t know that we can. At least not right now. This isn’t one of your science experiments. You can’t just do a bunch of trial and error until you suddenly find the right solution. It’s not that simple.”

“Charlie….”

Charlie pushes her fingers through her hair and starts to leave. But then she stops and turns around to face her mother again. “You know, there’s something I don’t get?”

Rachel stares at her. There’s the faintest shimmer of hope in her eyes, but mostly, her face is clouded with despair.

Charlie exhales quietly. “You and dad turned the entire world off. Millions if not billions of people all over the world have died or lost everything because of you. And this whole time, you’ve expected me to forgive you for it. Why? Because you’re my mom, and you’ve supposedly changed. Or because…you’re trying to do better. Yet you’re ready to crucify me for falling in love with Monroe? Who, frankly, is doing a hell of a lot more than you are to be better.”

The hope and color both drain from Rachel’s face as she listens. She still doesn’t respond.

“I’m done,” Charlie sighs.

“What do you mean, you’re done?” The fear in Rachel’s voice is blatantly transparent.

Charlie slowly shakes her head. “I’m just…I’m done. I’m done fighting with you. And I’m done trying to explain myself and my choices to you.”

“Charlie, what if he hurts you?”

“He won’t. The only person hurting me lately is you.”

Rachel’s expression is lifeless and weak as she takes in Charlie’s harsh words.

Charlie knows she’s hurt her mom possibly more than ever before. But for the time being, Charlie doesn’t care. Maybe that makes her a bad person. Maybe it doesn’t. Whatever the case, she’s done being the bigger person.

She turns and walks away, not bothering to look back at her mother. 

“Everything okay?” Vincent asks once Charlie is back with the group.

She nods briefly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, then. I’m impressed.” Vincent raises his eyebrows. “You’re mom’s kind of a scary lady.”

Charlie chuckles at his comment and then sighs contentedly. After that confrontation, it feels really good to laugh.

“Your man’s pretty scary, too. And your uncle, for that matter,” he adds.

That causes Charlie to laugh even harder. She grins mischievously at her new friend. “Clearly, Vincent, you haven’t spent enough time with me yet. I’m the scariest of them all.”

 

\- - -

 

With the exception of Rachel, Priscilla, and Aaron (who are off doing God knows what), they all gather around a bonfire a few nights later in honor of the safe return of Bass and Miles from their meeting with Frank Blanchard. Even Gene makes a brief appearance. Together, they all share food from an earlier hunt that Charlie led. They also share whiskey and stories and smiles.

It’s the calm before the storm. A lot has to happen in the coming days, and the stakes are high. The air around them is heavy with nervous anticipation. There’s no knowing what tomorrow will bring.

For the moment, however, Charlie ignores her uncertainties. She ignores the impending war with the Patriots. She ignores the fight she had with her mother and the fact that things are still unresolved between them.

She ignores it all and snuggles close to Bass as they share a blanket and soak up the company of their friends, both old and new.

“You should’a seen this guy,” Miles slurs between mouthfuls of whiskey and points to Bass. “He had three different sets of tits in his face, and he looks at each girl and—you know what he says?”

“What?” Vincent asks, a knowing smirk on his face.

“He says: _sorry, sister. I’m taken_.” Miles hardly finishes his statement before he doubles over in laughter. 

“Hey, aren’t you taken, too?” Vincent teases, which causes Miles to abruptly stop laughing while the rest of the group breaks out in a collective, hushed snigger.

“Jeez, Miles. You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.” Bass pulls Charlie closer to him and longingly gazes into her eyes. “I can’t help it if I’ve become a one woman kinda guy.”

“It’s not bad,” Miles clarifies. “It’s just fucking hilarious. You’re Sebastian-fucking-Monroe. Womanizer extraordinaire. Or, at least, you were, till Charlie happened. God…that’s still weird as hell to say.”

Charlie giggles and grabs Bass by his hair, pulling him close until her lips are against his ear.

“As far as I’m concerned,” she rasps out in a low voice that only he can hear, “that was the right answer. And I’ll reward you for it later by letting you play with _my_ tits.”

He growls like a hungry animal and palms her right breast over her clothing.

Charlie moans softly and places her hand on top of his. With her other hand, she pulls the blanket tighter to make sure no one notices what’s going on underneath it.

Unfortunately, her efforts are in vain.

“Hey!” Miles immediately yells. “None of that! Do that shit when no one else is around.”  

They quickly jerk apart.

Charlie blushes and feels a warm ache between her legs when Bass turns and looks at her with distinct mischief glowing in his blue eyes. She’ll probably never understand how he does that – how he manages to make her so hungry for him with just a look – but she’s not one to complain.

“Wanna go to bed?” He plainly questions.

“Do you even have to ask?” She whispers back, and that’s all it takes for him to abruptly discard their blanket and pull her up to her feet.

“Well, boys…good night,” Bass announces, pulling Charlie along.

Charlie can’t contain her laughter as she hears her uncle cursing in the background, while the others quietly snicker.

\- THE END -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, there will be an epilogue. So stay tuned for that! And please leave a review!! I really appreciate your comments so far and would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter as well. Thanks, everyone! You guys are all wonderful! xoxo


	20. Epilogue

**Two Years & Seven Months Later**

The sound of the shrill December wind wakes Bass from his slumber. He lets out a quiet, throaty groan and opens his sleep-heavy eyes, trailing his blue gaze over to his bedroom window in an attempt to figure out what time of day (or night) it is.

Judging by the amount of light streaming in, Bass guesses it’s not long after sunrise. Although, it’s a bit hard to say for sure, given the sunless, solid gray sky outside.  

Heavy snowflakes swirl nonsensically and smack against the glass, and suddenly, Bass is deeply thankful for his warm bed and the thick blankets under which he’s currently burrowed. 

But what he’s even more thankful for is the naked body that’s also under the blankets with him, snuggled up beside his own very naked form.

His fingers lazily crawl over her hip, and then he pulls her warm, sleeping frame even closer to himself until she’s flush against him, his body completely enveloping hers from behind.

“Mmm…” she moans, still half asleep. She stirs against him and her backside rubs him in all the right places.

That’s all it takes. His already stiff cock throbs and hardens even more against the small of her back.

He leans over and kisses her neck, his scruff teasing her delicate skin. Meanwhile, his frisky fingers move to her breasts. He strokes and squeezes and gently pulls at each one until her nipples are deliciously hard. He can feel her heartbeat picking up its speed beneath the delicate flesh of her chest, and it sends a wave of hungry longing throughout his entire body.

He then trails his hand down between her thighs, and a satisfied smile forms on his lips. She’s already wet with desire.

“Bass…” she moans as he strategically caresses her heated, slippery folds.

“Morning, Charlotte,” he barely whispers into her ear.

She flutters open her eyes and glances behind her shoulder, smiling lazily, when her eyes find his.

He grins back at her and pushes two fingers inside her heat, coating his digits with her wetness and then bringing them out to draw slow circles over her clit; he smears her juices over her bundle of nerves, thoroughly enjoying the way she squirms and moans and responds to his touch.

A disappointed whine leaves her lips when his fingers stop their play, but then she happily sighs when he lifts up her thigh and enters her from behind.

Together, they find a rhythm that is unhurried and familiar, loving, yet heated and firm: the perfected dance of two lovers who have learned the distinct details and preferences of one another’s bodies.

Bass buries his face in her hair when her vaginal walls begin to convulse around him, sending him straight into orgasm. He holds her tight and thrusts his cock deep and hard, each powerful plunge lifting them both to the heights of ecstasy. Her body writhes as he continues to move against her until the last possible second; then he pulls out and spills himself across her lower back and ass.

They collapse against the mattress together, sweaty and sated, breath ragged, chests heaving, hearts beating wildly; their limbs remain tangled together, and they hold each other in comfortable silence.

Eventually, Charlie rolls over so she’s facing him.

“Good morning.” She trails her fingers down his damp chest, tracing the hard curves of his muscles.

“Mmm…morning,” he replies, his voice extra raspy. His skin tingles beneath her touch.

He smiles, then leans forward and kisses her, savoring the soft warmth and sweet taste of her lips.

They’re quickly headed toward a second round of lovemaking when a quiet knock on their bedroom door interrupts them and causes them to begrudgingly stop their endeavor.

They both groan in disappointment.

“Mrs. Monroe? I’m sorry to disturb you, but Clay’s awake.” The voice on the other side of the door comes through as a muffle.

Charlie chuckles and rolls her eyes. “I keep telling her not to call me that.”

“Why?” Bass frowns, pretending to be offended. “You don’t like being addressed as my Mrs.?”

“It’s not that. It’s just…so formal.” Charlie’s expression is thoughtful. Then she adds, “I like it when _you_ call me that.”

“I know you do, Mrs. Monroe.” He winks.

She gives him a quick peck on the lips before sitting up and reaching for her robe.

Bass sighs and snuggles under the covers again, sadly watching as his wife’s nakedness disappears. His eyes intently follow the sway of her full hips as she gently pads across their bedroom and opens the door.

“Good morning, Anna,” Charlie greets the woman before her – who, as far as both Bass and Charlie are concerned, has the most important job in the world.

“Morning, Mrs. Monroe,” Anna kindly replies.

“Charlie,” Charlie corrects her. “Seriously, Anna, you can call me Charlie.” Then her attention goes to the chubby infant in Anna’s arms. “And good morning to you, my precious little prince.” She eagerly scoops him up from his nanny and cuddles him close.

Bass smiles when he hears the boy’s quiet cooing.

“Do you need me to stick around this morning?” Anna asks.

“Nope. You’re free to go,” Charlie replies. “Have a great Christmas. Enjoy your time with your family.”

“Thanks, Mrs.—err…Charlie. Merry Christmas,” Anna releases a nervous laugh. “I’ll see you in the New Year.” She nods politely and takes her leave.

Charlie closes the door and turns around, and when she does, Bass’s heart nearly explodes.

His wife is the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen, but she looks ten times more beautiful when she has their son in her arms.

Bass has to remind himself he’s not dreaming this time. This is _real_. Charlie Matheson – now Monroe – is really his; she even has the last name to prove it. And they really have a son – a perfectly healthy, totally chubby, blue-eyed, fuzzy-haired little boy who has both of his parents completely wrapped around his tiny fingers.

“Clay, you wanna see Daddy?” Charlie asks.

Still too young to speak, the boy simply coos again and wraps his fingers around his mother’s thumb.

Charlie approaches the bed and sits down on its edge, her eyes never leaving their son.

Bass is now sitting up, too, and he excitedly reaches for the cherub-faced tot, taking him from his mother. “Hey there, little man. You’re getting bigger every single day.”

The five month old smiles wide, teethless gums on full display, as his bright blue eyes sparkle with instant recognition of his father. He reaches up and curiously tugs at his dad’s lips, which causes both Bass and Charlie to laugh.

Bass leans down to kiss his forehead, then each of his chubby cheeks. But by the time he pulls back, Clay’s face is puckered up in discomfort, and he looks as if he’s about to cry.

“Uh oh.” Bass involuntarily holds his breath and frowns.

Charlie snickers. “I don’t think he likes your beard.”

“Ha. Tough luck, kiddo. Your mom loves the beard.”

Clay’s face continues to look like he has just tasted a sour lemon; seconds later, he begins to cry.

Bass tries to rock him, but Clay just cries harder.

“God, you’re such a mama’s boy,” Bass complains.

“Oh, stop,” Charlie sighs. “He adores you. I think he’s just hungry.”

“Oh. Well, sorry, buddy. Not my department.” Bass shrugs.

Once Charlie has situated herself against a stack of pillows along the headboard, Bass hands her the baby. She peels back the lapel of her robe, exposing a breast, and allows Clay to find her nipple; he latches on immediately and starts to suckle.

“Damn. Look at him go. Like father like son,” Bass quips, mesmerized by the miracle before him. He’s watched Charlie feed their son a million times, but it never fails to amaze and intrigue him.  

Charlie arches a stern eyebrow at him. “Are you ever gonna quit with that joke?”

“Only when it stops being funny.”

 

\- - -

 

The Monroe Mansion is a sight to be seen during the holidays. It sits alone on a snowy hill, a fresh blanket of white ice covering its normally red roof, with dark green garlands and wreaths made of pine and holly berries decorating the numerous windowpanes and doorframes. Smoke gently billows from the chimneys, and lantern-light glows in the windows, clearly indicating to the outside world that the house is alive with activity and warmth.

The beautifully historic, eighteenth-century Palladian estate once belonged to none other than President George Washington. Now it belongs to President Monroe and family and is a symbol of freedom, hope, and change – a promise for a brighter future and a better America.

The country’s political and geographic landscapes have completely changed. There are only two republics and two presidents now:

President Blanchard governs over the Western Republic (which is comprised of California, Texas, The Plains Nation, and what for a while was considered The Wasteland); and President Monroe governs the Eastern Republic (which is made up of the former Monroe Republic and what used to be the Georgia Federation).

The two leaders and their cabinets are about as different as night and day, but they’ve developed a strong professional camaraderie and are proud of the country they’ve reestablished and co-led ever since the fall of the Patriots. They’ve set things up in a way that will hopefully allow them to eventually merge their Republics together and elect a single president who, with the help of a qualified and fairly elected administration, might govern the entire country.

Things are generally good. Peaceful, even. And even with the lights still out, the political future looks bright.

But, of course, the hope of the present and the future came at the high price of many lost lives. The Patriot War didn’t last long, but it was brutal and bloody and horrendously traumatic for anyone who was involved.

There are nights when both Bass and Charlie still wake up in a cold sweat as they relive those horrendous battles in their dreams. It’s only the comfort of being in each other’s arms that gets them through those long, emotional nights.

But, overall, neither of them have any real reason to complain. The post-apocalyptic world in which they live is still harsh, but life has blessed them with much more than they could have ever hoped for: the most important of those blessings being their happy marriage and their beautiful baby boy.

There’s really nothing more they need.

 

\- - -

 

“President Monroe….”

“Good evening, President Monroe.”

“Merry Christmas, President Monroe….”

“Hi…nice to see you. Thanks for coming…Merry Christmas.” Bass offers sincere smiles and warm nods to each of their guests as he and Charlie, hand in hand, make their way through the crowded ballroom.

People have traveled from various parts of the country to attend the second annual Eastern Republic Presidential Holiday Ball, held at the Monroe Mansion and hosted by the First Family.

Bass stays by his wife the entire night. He knows Charlie’s not particularly fond of these lavish public events. She would much rather spend her night curled up with him in their bedroom or in the mansion’s library in front of a raging fire, a good book in hand. But she understands the importance of such affairs and makes every effort to sincerely mingle with the folks who have gathered at their home.

Quite naturally, she is a huge hit with everyone. Most of their guests – men, women, and children alike – can’t take their eyes off of her. Not that Bass can blame them. It’s not very often that she dresses in long flowing gowns like the strapless, floor-length, salmon-colored one she’s wearing tonight. Her long, honey-colored hair cascades over her bare shoulders in large, loose curls, and a small diamond pendant – a gift Bass gave her on their first wedding anniversary – sparkles above the sweetheart neckline of her dress. She looks positively radiant and commands everyone’s attention without even trying, his included.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you…” she says when they finally have a moment to themselves. “You look super hot tonight.”

Bass smirks and watches as her eyes hungrily rake up and down his frame.

“You should wear tuxes more often.” She reaches up and straightens his black bowtie.

He snakes his arm around her waist and pulls her close, whispering hotly into her ear, “And you should wear dresses…that I can then rip off of you…more often.”

“Deal,” she says and leans up to kiss him.

“Aaaand what are the odds I find you two…doing that?” Miles walks up and interrupts.

Bass releases his wife’s lips and sighs. “Brother, your timing is always impeccable.”

“Thanks. I try,” Miles snarkily retorts.

“There you are,” Charlie chuckles at her uncle and leaves Bass momentarily to give Miles a hug. “We were wondering if you’d even show tonight.”

“Aww, and miss all the free booze? Never.” Miles winks and holds up his glass of whiskey. “But yeah. Otherwise, I hate these things. You know that.”

“Some things never change.” Charlie rolls her eyes. “And for the record…I hate these things, too.”

“I know you do,” Miles snickers. “I’m pretty sure it runs in the family.”

“I was smarter this year, though,” Charlie proudly announces.

The comment earns her confused looks from both Miles and Bass.

She simply grins and lifts up the bottom hem of her dress to reveal a pair of scuffed up combat boots instead of dress shoes.

“Of course.” Bass laughs, knowing his wife has always preferred comfort to anything else.

Then he suddenly has a mental image of Charlie in the presidential office, perched on the edge of the large, mahogany desk, her dress hiked up above her waist, boots still on, while Bass ardently plows into her.

Damn. Now that fantasy will be stuck in his head for the rest of the night – and he might just have to sneak her away and make it a reality.

“Hey,” she defends, “If I have to walk around and schmooze all night, I want to be comfortable.”

Miles looks at Bass and shrugs. “Kid’s pretty smart.”

“Excuse me? _Kid_?” Charlie raises an eyebrow. “After everything that’s happened…and you still call me kid?”

“Well, someone’s gotta keep you grounded, right?” Miles teases.

She lets out a melodramatic sigh, but her face reveals that deep down, she secretly loves the term – at least when it comes from Miles.

“So how’s retired life on the West Coast?” Bass asks. “I still don’t understand why you chose to settle in Washington State, but whatever.”

“Well…it rains. A _lot_. And people are generally grumpy from the constant vitamin-D deficiency. And everyone’s a fucking coffee addict,” Miles answers. Then he smiles and sips his drink. “It’s precisely my kind of place.”

Bass shakes his head and exchanges a look with Charlie.

“And how’s…?” Charlie’s expression becomes hesitantly grave, and she doesn’t complete her thought.

But Miles just offers her an understanding nod. “She’s fine, Charlie. Getting better every day. I think the move was good for her. And going to therapy’s helped her a lot.”

Charlie sighs, seeming relieved.

“She asks about you, you know,” Miles says.

Charlie slowly nods, her eyes suddenly filled with nostalgic sadness. She looks up at Bass.

He smiles and wraps his arm around her, giving her an encouraging squeeze.

“Maybe we should visit Washington over the summer?” She suggests. “Let Mom meet Clayton, finally?”

Bass leans in and presses his lips to her forehead. He’s not thrilled about the idea of seeing Rachel Matheson again, but if Charlie really wants to see her mother, he’s not one to stand in the way. Besides, Rachel is family now, and it’s been two years since they last saw her; and Miles insists that she’s doing better - actually better this time. And, at the end of the day, if there’s one thing Sebastian Monroe has learned in his life, it’s that even the most fallen ones can be redeemed. He, himself, is living proof.

He kisses his wife's forehead again. “Whatever you want, Madam President.”

**********

_**A/N: And that's it, folks! Thank you SO very much for giving this story a chance and sticking with me even when I decided to turn a tiny holiday fluff piece into so much more, lol. As I mentioned in the beginning, this is my very first attempt at writing Charloe, and you guys have all been truly amazing throughout this experience. I already have other fic ideas in my head, so I'm going to start planning and outlining, and hopefully I'll have something new to share with you in the very near future.** _

_**If you have a moment, please leave a review! Thank you! xoxo** _


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